


Exaltation

by OtherCat



Series: OtherCat's Snippets and Incomplete Fic [13]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human/Troll Society, Godstuck, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mythology - Freeform, Other, Post-Canon, Reincarnation, Religion, Yes I know it's taking a while to get to Dirk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 16:09:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4186266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtherCat/pseuds/OtherCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave is the most recent incarnation of the Hero of Time. In between serving as an acolyte in the temple of Megido and the occasional existential crisis, Dave's life is actually pretty ordinary.</p><p>Things take a turn for the metaphysical when the Four Nobles make an appearance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One One Ordinary Day

**Author's Note:**

> Unofficially betaed by [MadameHardy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameHardy/pseuds/MadameHardy)

In the early morning, it is sword training in the salle with the other acolytes. This is the only class you take with the other acolytes, mostly because you need someone to spar with, according to your tutors. The rest of the day in between chores and errands, you get private classes with your tutors. When you were younger, you wondered if the special treatment was because you were maybe some lord’s bastard but this proved not to be the case. 

(This turns out to be majorly not the case.) 

After sword practice is Music, with Sister Melia followed by Composition and Rhetoric, both taught by Brother Dorin. Then there was Mathematics, Geometry and Geography, taught by Sister Lyss. Ancient and Modern Aldyan you learned from Brother Vai, who also taught Kyri, Dinal, Aerish, and Eternan. Literature, History and Metaphysics were all taught by Brother Akris. All of those classes were spread out through the week, interspersed with various chores and errands. You are one of the acolytes trusted with carrying messages and documents to the other temples or to scholars in the Great Library, the temple weapons master has you helping to clean up the salle after class, and you spent an inordinate time in the temple library repairing book bindings. 

The past week has not been one of your better ones. You have had weird dreams (nightmares okay, you were having nightmares where you kept dying in various gruesome ways), you have overslept (because of the nightmares), you’ve been late for class (because of the oversleeping of course). You’ve managed not to be late with your errands or chores but only by the skin of your teeth. You have gotten into fights with this one new acolyte who will just not stop getting in your face for no good damn reason. You are most recently late to Metaphysics, a subject you dearly hate with every fiber of your being. Brother Akris says nothing about the lateness, for which you are eternally grateful. 

As grateful as you are, you should probably not be doing this, but Brother Akris is your favorite tutor to wind up. (Asking stupidly complicated questions about the gods is the very best way to get him flustered and annoyed with you. Second best thing is to ask stupidly complicated questions about Aldyan monotheism because Brother Akris is a convert and you suspect his family was Less Than Pleased at his conversion to the Torren faith.) But your week has been full of irritation and disturbance and you want to share some of the disturbance. 

You lead Brother Akris carefully because over the years he has gotten wise to you and your questions, starting off with questions about previous incarnations of the Heroes before asking, “so say some boy somewhere hypothetically matched all of the various signs and portents matching a specific Hero but it turned out that they were not a Hero, what would happen?”

“That boy would have had a very good education and a place in any of the temples he was taught at,” Brother Akris says. “There have been False Heroes, through falsification of the portents however.” Akris gives a meaningful pause. “Which you should know from your studies.”

“Yes, Brother,” you say dutifully. “What if they were a completely different Hero?”

“Then everyone would be very surprised. Or not at all surprised, depending. Are these questions meant to go somewhere, Master Strider?”

You frown and look aside for a moment. “Not really,” you say as if confessing. “Just, okay Brother I’m being educated in all kinds of things, but are they really necessary if I’m really the Hero of Time?”

Brother Akris frowns. “You’re a little old to be trying to get out of lessons by saying that you’re a Hero and don’t need to go to school, Strider.”

“I didn’t even know that when I was little. Maybe I’m making up for lost time.” You had been living at the temple since you were found by Seekers at the age of five. You weren’t told that you were taken in because you were likely to come down with a case of apotheosis until you were thirteen. It’s been two years since, and not a lot has happened, unless you count an increase in extremely weird dreams.

“Strider.” 

“I could understand the exercising and weapon’s practice, I mean who’d want a limp pastry body, but he could find out current events on his own couldn’t he? And the Heroes are supposed to be able to speak any tongue.”

“Training the mind is as important as training the body, Strider,” Brother Akris says patiently.

“Yeah but am I going to still be me? When Dave takes over I mean.”

This gets you a puzzled look. “Why wouldn’t you be yourself, Dave?” Brother Akris asks you, concerned.

“I figure that when it happens, it’ll either be whoosh, suddenly I’m the Hero of Time, and there won’t be any room for Dave the street kid who got a free education, or I’ll suddenly start remembering past lives and eventually there won’t be any room for and so on.”

Okay, so maybe you weren’t just asking questions to wind Brother Akris up. 

“Are you hoping that the portents are wrong, Dave?” Brother Akris asks you gently. 

“Well, nothing has really happened in the two years since I was told,” you say, not looking up at the priest-tutor. “So maybe.”

“It can take years for your memories and powers to fully awaken,” Brother Akris says, still in that gentle tone. “Or it can happen instantly, there’s no way of really knowing which it will be.”

“Not really helping, Brother,” you mumble, still not looking up. 

“I know,” he says. “It might help however, if you spoke to your sister.”

“She’s not my sister.” Which wasn’t the actual reason you didn’t want to talk to her. 

“The Aldyan scriptures are very firm on this point,” Brother Akris says, a little humorously. “The Hero of Time is brother to the Hero of Light, the Hero of Space is sister to Breath. In other faiths where the Heroes appear the relationships are less certain, but the ancient Aldyans say that she’s your sister, so.” 

“And the Aldyans are right about everything.”

Brother Akris snorts. “The only thing you Torrens even got half right is the universal rightness of all things Aldyan.” 

“Hey, the Torrens never even heard of the Heroes until they conquered the Aldyans, so I have to be at least half Aldyan.”

“Which still only makes you half right, Strider,” Brother Akris says with a smile. 

“She probably doesn’t remember what it was like, to be mortal and then not.” And if she did remember, would she really tell you the truth? Were you going to vanish or just fade away, replaced by the real Dave Strider? It was an unnerving thought, like the dreams you couldn’t quite remember this morning.

“She would still be the best person to talk to, Strider.” He pauses. “She asks about you frequently, and is very fond of you.”

You shrug. You’ve met the Seeress a handful of times over the years, and received gifts from her on the Winter Solstice and your birthday. (On the date that the priests let you pick as your birthday because, you didn’t know your own.) She looked young and felt old and her general manner toward you had been somewhere between “noble patroness” and “old auntie teasing a brat.” You had never known which of them you were going to get and you still couldn’t really envision her as a sister, or as someone to confide in. Even if she wasn’t the Hero of Light, she was an Imperial Advisor for gods’ sake. (How was it your life that you were related to an Imperial Advisor who also happened to be an Incarnate Hero. How was it your life that _you_ were an Incarnate Hero for that matter.) “Maybe I’ll talk to her,” you say finally. 

“Good,” Brother Akris says. “Now since we’re discussing the Heroes, tell me how much you remember of the Fourfold Knot...”

You escape from Metaphysics when the dinner bell rings and head for the dining hall. Dinner is barley soup, a chunk of bread, a wedge of cheese and a mug of tea. The God of Light is laughing at you because you end up in line next to the new acolyte, a teal troll with short, spiked horns named Berend who is two years younger than you are. He rather predictably tries to trip you as you head for the tables with your dinner. You evade the foot but not the rest of him; he follows you to the table you usually sit at and plunks his tray down across from you with a challenging sneer. 

He really, really wants you to object to having him sit near you, so you don’t. 

Mmm barley soup. 

“Are you two getting along now?” Sister Talia, one of the junior priestesses asks as she sets her tray next to you. 

Before Berend can say anything you say, “yes. We’ve sworn an oath of fellowship that will ring down through the ages as an exemplar of true friendship.” You ride right over Berend’s sputtering denials. “Don’t deny it, brother mine, we are like Aeru and Lantis, Tikal and Veris, our brotherhood written in the stars--”

Berend lunges over the table after you. Sister Talia catches him and flips him onto the table as you dodge back out of the chair. Soup is everywhere and the other diners at your table are peeved. Everyone in the dining hall is watching you, and the traditional chant of “fight, fight!” starts up before being snuffed by the priests. Because Berend is stupid, he’s still struggling and snarling threats. “Duel me, you coward! The only reason you won’t is because you’re scared to be beaten like the street trash you are!”

“The reason I won’t is because dueling is actually forbidden by the order’s charter you ass!” The kid had stomped up to you a month ago, and challenged you to a duel. You’d told him no, but said sparring was okay. The kid had flicked his ears back and glared as if you’d just insulted his lusus and stomped off. After that, he’d just started...hanging around, and finding reasons to insult you or get you to argue with him. The monitors had had to call the two of you to order on several occasions, and you’d both had to report to Brother Arkoi, but it hadn’t gotten beyond shouting and the occasional shoving match.

“You’re not even a member of the order! You probably aren’t even really an Incarnation, you’re just some street trash that the Seekers turned up with!”

Sister Talia hauls Berend off the table, and shakes him hard. “Acolyte, you had better shut the hell up,” she growls. Berend, some sense having finally arrived, shuts up. She shakes him again, just to make her displeasure clear. The monitors arrive and after some conversation where you are acquitted of wrong-doing, the kid gets taken to a contemplation cell to await judgment. 

After helping to clean up the mess (at Sister Talia’s “suggestion”), dinner is a much quieter affair. You receive some awkward sympathy from the other acolytes and priests, and you accept (awkwardly). After dinner are evening prayer, a reading from The Book of Paths and an invocation of the Lady of Time. The Lady of Time may or may not have made Her presence felt by the ringing of chimes and may or may not have whispered comments, advice or secrets into the ears of Her chosen priests. (You have never been whispered to, but have talked to people who say they’ve heard Her voice. You are pretty sure that the chimes are actually clockwork mechanisms hidden somewhere in the sanctuary though. How they get activated, you haven’t figured out yet. You haven’t seen any obvious movements to set off a switch, no hand signals or other gestures for an accomplice.) 

Your dreams are bizarre, as usual, and mostly about dying. You’re battling monsters and huge burning rocks are falling from the sky, destroying a bizarre city of towers. A man splits one of the boulders in half before it can crash into the tower you’re standing on. (The man is your brother and you are in awe of him and his skill.) Your bodies keep piling up and you have to carry them to a lake of fire and drop them in. (You are numb and tired and you are trying so very hard not to think about any of this.) 

Somewhere there and is and no longer is a Green Sun. You dream of rising up between layers of green plasma (dying and not dying endlessly to the point that the pain can be ignored because it’s omnipresent) to be confronted by faces you’ve seen in statues and paintings. You dream of the demiurges chasing each other through the heavens and a demon. (You dream of dreams and conversations with the dead.) You awaken from these dreams and fall into others with the same theme, restless and uneasy. 

Then you’re curled up on a couch and your cheek is pressed against someone’s leg, sleepy and safe. Someone is reading to you, but you are not actually paying very much attention to him; instead, you’re mostly just drifting along on the reverberations of his voice. His voice has the slight buzz of a troll voice, a little scratchy but surprisingly pleasant when he’s relaxed like this. “...And you are not listening to a god damned thing I just read, are you?” He asks, sounding exasperated and fond.

“Uh huh,” you say. “Teylan is like, ‘notice me senpai’ because he thinks Sarius is the descendant of his Ancestor’s kismesis, but Sarius is like ‘nope’ because he thinks Ancestors are a highblood fetish. Also Teylan has just Ascended and he’d feel like a cradlerobber or something if he got with Teylan.”

“Now if only you were this observant when you were awake.”

“Yes, I can in fact tell when someone has a crush on me,” you say. “Still not doing cauliflower romance.”

Poke. “Caliginous.” Poke poke. “Come on, I know you can say it right.” 

You squirm around and poke back. “No.”

“Say it.” 

“Make me.” The poking turns into wrestling. You both start to slide off the couch and you hold on tight, determined to bring him down with you.

“Caliginous.”

“No.” The book is forgotten as the both of you roll across the floor wrestling and mock-snarling like puppies playing.


	2. Cauliflower Romance

You wake up this morning on time largely because there are monitors at your door. “Strider, you’re to report to His Grace before breakfast or going to class,” one of the monitors say when you answer the door.

“Not Brother Arkoi?” You ask blankly, your head still full of wool from dreaming. What was going on that they wanted you to see the temple high priest instead of the priest in charge of the acolytes?

“Definitely His Grace, Strider,” the monitor says. “Don’t worry you’re not the one in trouble.”

“I’ll get ready immediately,” you tell the monitor, and close the door to do your usual morning routine.

The monitors are still there when you exit your room, and they provide a completely unnecessary escort to the high priest’s office. The office is a surprisingly small room, stuffed with bookcases and dominated by huge claw-footed oak desk cluttered with scrolls and documents. There’s also a little music box with a miniature of Megido holding a clockwork heart in Her cupped hands on its lid. Before the desk are two chairs.

Berend is already there when you arrive. He’s bracketed by another pair of monitors, and he looks pretty miserable, not even glaring up at you when you enter the room.

“You sent for me, Your Grace?” you ask with a bow.

High Priest Hymaros nods. “Yes. Master Strider, let me first say that you are not considered a burden to this temple, and if you were an ordinary acolyte you would have a place here regardless of your background. Megido’s Order has never discriminated based on class, and you have been a challenging but promising student.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” you say. “This temple has always been a home to me, and I’m grateful for the education I’ve received here.”

The high priest sends the monitors out of the room, then looks between you and Berend, glowering. “Normally Brother Arkoi would be mediating this, but you Master Strider are more a holy and honored guest than an acolyte here and Brother Arkoi felt that he was not qualified to deal with this.” He points to the chairs that had been set before his desk. “Both of you sit.”

You sit, and after a moment of hesitation, Berend does likewise. He sits in the chair in such a way that he is as far from you as he can manage while still being in the chair. He’s also looking at you out of the corner of his eye. When he sees you looking back he tries on a sneer, but it’s weak. You deliberately turn your attention to the high priest.

The high priest watches this little interplay with a certain grim amusement. “Brother Berend, Master Strider, you have been at odds for the past month. Last night was a particularly shameful example of the conflict between you, with Brother Berend verging on accusing the Order of Megido of attempting to raise a False Hero.”

“I don’t think there was any verging involved,” you say, and your face heats. “Your Grace.”

Brother Arkoi would have been deeply annoyed with your interruption, the high priest just snorts, amused. “Brother Berend also made some classist remarks. You, Master Strider kept your head, Sister Talia intervened, and things did not escalate further, which is why only one of you ended up in the contemplation cells. What’s going to happen now is Brother Berend is going to repeat what he told me in our earlier interview. Then, the three of us are going to talk about it.”

Berend squirmed in his chair. “I’m pitch for Master Strider,” he mumbles. “I have been since I first saw him. I knew that the main temple was hosting an Incarnation, but when I saw him, he seemed so ordinary I couldn’t believe he was really the Hero of Time. Brother Perris was scolding him for dropping his guard as if he was any other acolyte, and he was good with a sword but not nearly as good as the stories say. I eavesdropped on his tutors to find out how he was in the subjects he was taught and I asked the other acolytes questions about him so I could learn more about him. Then I challenged him, but he rejected the challenge--” a nervous swallow. “But I figured I still had a chance since he had mentioned sparring, so I kept getting in his way and arguing with him.”

“You know actually _asking_ me to spar could have been a thing,” you say. The spying was creepy and weird but what gets you is that in all of your arguments and his attempts to start fights, he never once actually asked you to spar. “You know instead of asking for a duel, or starting stupid fights with me.”

High Priest Hymaros clears his throat. “It might not have occurred to him to do so. In any case the ‘duel’ you were challenged to would not have been against the Order’s charter, since it would not have been a trial by combat to redress a perceived slight or wrong. Berend mistakenly used a more colloquial interpretation of the word, common to the Province he grew up in when he challenged you. It would have been more proper for him to challenge you to a _match_.” A beat. “Master Strider, were you aware that Berend was flirting with you?”

It’s your turn to squirm in your chair. “Not really? I mean a couple of the troll acolytes joked about it, but I didn’t take it seriously? I mean, I didn’t want to assume that’s what he was doing?” You also hadn’t cared that it might be true, honestly. You’d just ignored him until you couldn’t anymore, which usually ended up with another visit to Brother Arkoi’s office.

Berend buries his face in his hands and makes a muffled, despairing noise. “Didn’t take it seriously...”

“‘Oh did you know he likes you?’ is the favorite game of half the acolytes here; of course the person who’s supposed to like you is usually a few years older and completely ignorant of your existence...” Occasionally you’d been the person told that someone liked you, and occasionally the person that was supposedly doing the liking. You shrug. “I’m not happy you did the spying thing, but I’m just not going to dislike you the way you want me to, Brother Berend.”

“It’s not really spying if someone is one of the favorite topics of conversation,” Berend mutters.

“Your talents of investigation would have been better served in your Natural Sciences class Brother Berend. Now sit up straight and apologize for insulting Master Strider,” the high priest says sternly.

Berend obeys, though it takes him about a minute to straighten up. His face is darkened by a flush that goes up to his ears, and he has trouble making eye contact. “I’m sorry for calling you street trash, and for other insults said in attempting to incite you to fight with me.”

The high priest gives you an expectant look. “I accept your apology, Brother Berend.”

“Now that an apology has been made, this is what we’re going to do,” the high priest says. “Brother Berend is going to report to Brother Arkoi for penance duties for the next seven days. For those same seven days, Master Strider is excused from his book bindery and courier duties. You and he will instead be spending a four hour block of time together in the library from nine o’clock and one o’clock where a monitor will give you an assignment to complete and a topic to discuss.” A pause. “Starting today, little brothers.”

“Yes Your Grace,” you both say.

High Priest Hymaros gives you both a stern look and then nods. “Both of you are dismissed.”

Berend heads off for his appointment with Brother Arkoi while you head to the dining hall to gobble down a couple of sweet rolls and a mug of tea for breakfast. From there you head to the salle where in between bouts the other acolytes ask about What Happened Between You and Brother Berend. You give them very little information on the topic, much to their disappointment. After class, you help stack the practice weapons and gear, and then head off to your next subject.

At nine of the clock you report to the library. A librarian directs you to one of the meeting rooms, where a monitor and Berend are waiting for you. The first assignment is to translate ten paragraphs from _An Account of the Annekirian War_. Your Ancient Aldyan is better than his, his penmanship is better than yours is. The monitor wants one perfect copy, and both of you manage to provide this. The discussion topic has nothing to do with what you just translated. Instead, you learn about the town Berend comes from and that his town’s patron god is Pyrope. In return, you talk about your favorite subjects and your favorite spots in the temple to sit and think. The monitor lets you break for lunch, and when you get back, there is more talking, then you are sent to your next class, and Berend goes to report to Brother Arkoi.

The next six days follow the same format. The assignments are sometimes translating paragraphs from various books; sometimes they involve mathematics, history, or natural sciences. (You have to do them together, which is frustrating because you are used to working alone.) The topics of conversation cover anything from etiquette to philosophy to literature. (The conversations tend to turn into heated arguments, with the monitor intervening. Berend is horribly embarrassed by this, but the monitor, a troll junior priest, is merciless in his interventions and has no sympathy for him.) You get a much better idea of the way the kid thinks, and you find he isn’t nearly as annoying when he isn’t trying to get in your face with some attempt to make you fight with him.

“So, when we were supposed to talk about where we came from, you didn’t actually say anything about where you came from,” Berend says over lunch on the seventh day.

“That would be because I actually _am_ street trash, Brother Berend,” you reply. “As in, we didn’t have a home.” Your mother had been a beggar. Sometimes she had told fortunes, but she had made most of her living on the steps of the Temple of Breath. She had been given a home of her own, after the Seekers had found you, and someone to look after her. You visited her on holidays.

“Oh,” Berend says and looks uncomfortable. “I’m sorry for calling you that.”

“I don’t care. It wasn’t anything I hadn’t heard before.”

“You? But--”

You laugh. “You thought you were being pretty daring, huh? No one knew for sure that I was the Incarnation until I was thirteen. I’ve been called street trash before. All anyone knew for sure was that I was a kid picked off the streets, and kept mostly isolated from the other kids. I was five when I came here, about three years too young to be an acolyte, so the kids here came up with a lot of stories about me. You’ve probably heard most of them.”

“I’m still sorry,” Berend says stubbornly. His face darkens in a blush. “I wish I’d just asked you to spar.”

“We can still do that, if you wanted,” you say.

“I do.”

“As long as it’s not caliginous sparring.”

Berend gives you an irritated look, blushing even more. “It won’t be; I don’t think I dislike you like that anymore,” he says tartly.

After lunch, you’re both sent to the high priest who asks you both what you’ve learned about each other during your punishment. You say that Berend has really good penmanship and desperately needs a tutor in Ancient Aldyan. Berend says that you have terrible taste in epic poetry and refuse to take anything important seriously. The high priest is amused by your responses, and questions you both until you can come up with something more sincere and insightful.

The next few days following your punishment are quiet except for your dreams which continue to make you lose sleep. Some of the dreams are nightmares, and other dreams are just disturbing, bizarre fragments. You dream of being inundated by bizarre, brightly colored dolls, of a void filled with vast monsters, of arguing with a familiar, unfamiliar troll boy, of a man (your brother) being slain by a demon. You dream of dying, of war, of your sister and friends. You dream of the gods, of conversations written in peculiar texts that scroll past your sight.

You start to drift off in the book bindery and during class. Your tutors are not shy about making their concern known, though you assure them that you’re just a little sleepy. They do not buy your manly stoicism however, and they send you to the infirmary. The physicians are not able to help you very much. They prescribe a sleeping draught that puts you to sleep, but leaves you drowsy for the rest of the day anyway.

But at least you don’t remember your dreams, which is a good thing, you suppose.

Brother Akris makes several pointed comments that you should speak to the Seeress about your dreams and difficulty with sleeping. You point out that you yourself are not a Seer and your dreams are just dreams. You also point out that the sleeping draught got rid of the dreams and therefore, they are no longer a problem. He states after one too many flippant refusals that if you don’t write a letter to the Seeress about your dreams he will.

So you send the Seeress a short letter:

_To the Hero of Light Rose Lalonde, Imperial Advisor,_

_I hope this letter finds you well._

_I have been advised by one of my tutors to tell you of dreams I have been having, and too seek your advice concerning same. The dreams have made sleeping difficult so I have been taking a sleeping draught prescribed by the temple infirmary._

_With Regard,_

_Dave Strider, Acolyte of Megido_

Her reply:

_To the Hero of Time Dave Strider, Acolyte of Megido,_

_I am not able to make an accurate diagnosis based on such little information, Dave. Disturbing dreams can be caused by many things. Please tell how long you have been having them, and what you can remember of their content._

_With Regard,_

_Rose Lalonde, Hero of Light, Imperial Advisor_

You send her a longer letter this time, detailing as much of your dreams as you can remember. You tell her when the dreams started, and how much sleep you’d been losing as a result. You also throw in what you can remember of what you were eating the night before.

_To the Hero of Time Dave Strider, Acolyte of Megido,_

_From what your last letter tells me, you appear to be dreaming about your past lives. This is a stage that is common to all four of us. There is a period where we have unsettling dreams as we begin to remember our past, in particular our past before our time in this universe, upon this world. What can be particularly distressing are the attempts of the others (by others I of course mean the gods) to get our attention before we’re ready to hear them, which may also be something that is happening to you._

_I would recommend that you stop taking the sleeping draught, as it is actually necessary for you to be experiencing the dreams, however unpleasant they may seem to you. You may have to ask your tutors to give you a break from your studies and duties. In fact, I am sending a letter to the high priest of the main temple to inform him of this. In addition, I would like to invite you to come visit me. I might be able to help you work through this process._

_With Regard,_

_Rose Lalonde, Hero of Light, Imperial Advisor_

Your response is immediate:

_to the hero of light, rose lalonde, imperial advisor_

_are you seriously inviting me to a sleepover is that what youre doing_

You stop writing it because while you know what it says, and can read the words, it’s not in Torren, or in any language you know.


	3. Peculiar Texts

After staring at the mystery script for several long minutes, you carefully start over with a new piece of paper. You accept the Seeress’ invitation. The mystery script does not make a return appearance and you are relieved. After taking the letter to the courier’s office, you leave a message with the high priest’s secretary saying that you have accepted an invitation to stay with the Seeress. The secretary does not seem surprised by this and schedules a meeting for you just before dinner. You thank the secretary and return to your room and the mystery script.

The tone of the first message you wrote is teasing and flippant. As if, you knew the Seeress well enough to joke with her. (In a way, you did know her well enough which is something you are carefully not thinking about just yet.) You hadn’t _felt_ as if you were teasing or flippant when you wrote the words, you had just wanted to tell the Seeress that she didn’t need to invite you, that you were fine, except for the dreams. You puzzle a little over the lack of punctuation in the message body and the word “sleepover,” which can be divided into the words “sleep” and “over” which you understand individually but not together until you think about it. A “sleepover” was a sort of party for children, where they stayed the night in the home of the host. (That you can apparently “recall” words you’ve never read before in a language you’ve never seen before is even more disturbing than actually writing the mystery script in the first place.) _“You never take anything important seriously,”_ Berend had said. The entire note, what there was of it was “don’t worry about me, see, I’m not taking it seriously so you don’t need to either.” 

Well, you are taking it seriously now. 

You take the piece of paper with you when you go to your tutors. There are occasional incidents where you write in the strange script again. You acquire more letters, punctuation marks and numbers. You record bits and pieces of the script on the paper as you go. Your tutors don’t recognize the script either, and recommend that you speak to the librarians in the temple library. 

The conversation with the high priest is short. He removes you from your duties in the book bindery and acting as a courier and tells you that he’s also removing you from having to take classes. There was a time you would have been ecstatic about not having to take lessons, but this feels...a lot more permanent than a break. “Your Grace,” you start, and then fall silent, not knowing what to say. 

“Master Strider?” 

“You said I was a good student, that I’d have a place here even if I weren’t the Hero of Time.”

The High Priest nods. “Yes. You were a challenging student, but very quick when you applied yourself.”

You cringe a little at the past tense. “I know I agreed to go visit the Seeress, but part of me--most of me--wants to stay here and just keep going to classes and working. This temple is my home.”

“Even ordinary acolytes leave the temple, when they become priests, Dave,” Hymaros says gently. “You are always welcome to come back, or go to any other temple and stay for a time.” He smiles. “And the Seeress lives in Torre, so you won’t be that far away.”

“It won’t be the same,” you mumble. 

The High Priest laughs. “No, it won’t. You’ll be the Hero of Time, not an acolyte.” 

“That’s sort of the problem.”

“I know, and I wish I could offer some suitable advice that would comfort you, but all I can say is that you are loved, and you are not alone.” 

During supper, you do a lot more thinking than actually eating, poking at your mutton pie, and drowning bits of pastry in the gravy. (It was probably more accurate to say you were brooding. Both about leaving and about being the Hero of Time. You are not in the mood to be very honest with yourself about this.) You think about leaving the temple and try to cheer yourself up with the thought that you’ll be staying in a mansion with servants to wait on you. It doesn’t really work, but you try. A few people you know from the couriers and the book bindery skim by, but aren’t able to draw you out of your funk.

You skip the evening prayer and go to wander in the bone garden instead. The bone garden was one of your favorite places, and had been since you were a child. The bones were from ancient monsters, animals had been somehow turned to stone by Time, and many examples were displayed in the garden. Sheets of rock with tiny sea creatures embedded within, boulders with the stone chipped away to reveal snarling skulls, claws, ribs, vertebrae. The paths are sand between beds of flowers and trees and the open places where the stones are displayed. There were priests and scholars who studied and collected the fossils, and a larger collection was kept in the temple cellars and at the Great Library. You had wanted to be one of those priests when you were younger. 

It’s almost dark now and the lanterns haven’t been lit yet. There’s a breeze rattling through the branches of the trees, and you can hear the invocation being performed. You’re joined on your silent walk through the bone garden by Berend. He’s following you, while pretending to contemplate the remains of creatures preserved by Time. (He is definitely following you. Every time you move, he moves in the same direction.) You walk around a skull that is nearly as long as you are tall, and then walk around a bend in the path, hiding behind a tree. After a couple minutes, Berend gets up from the bench he was sitting at, and starts looking for you. When he passes by your tree, you catch him by the sleeve of his tunic. Berend squeaks and jumps, flailing his arms. 

You laugh and jump back to avoid the flailing. “That’s what you get for skipping evening prayer!” You taunt.

“You’re skipping too, Strider!” Berend says. His chin is tucked in so his horns are pointed at you defensively. 

“Obviously,” you say. “And what I get for skipping evening prayer...is you following me.”

“I was worried about you,” Berend says. “You’ve been acting weird for days.”

“Says the person who keeps spying on me,” you say. “ _That’s_ pretty weird.”

“It isn’t spying if people stop you in the hallways to say, ‘did you know Strider fell dead asleep in the book bindery?’” Berend replies. “Everyone talks about you. To me, especially since everyone knows I have a crush on you.” 

“And you’re worried about me.” 

“Yes!” Berend says, exasperated. “And I’m sorry for spying. I was too much of a coward to actually try talking to you.” A deep breath. “But yes I’m worried about you.” A pause. “Lots of people are.”

“Did you um...flip to conciliatory or something?”

“Gods help me, it’s hard to tell,” Berend says. “And you can be pitch for someone and still worry about them. But I’m not really pitch for you anymore.”

“You just want to follow me around.”

“Obviously,” Berend says in a snarky tone. “That’s what you get for being weird.”

“You don’t have to worry,” you say. “It’s just dreams I’ve been having, that have been keeping me awake. I’m going to be seeing the Seeress about them.”

Berend frowns. “That doesn’t sound like nothing to worry about,” he says. 

You shrug. “I didn’t say I wasn’t worried. I said you didn’t have to.”

“Yes I see, that stops me right away,” Berend says sarcastically. “I’m sure it stops everyone you work with, and everyone you spar with during arms training.” He starts to say more, then there’s a light. The lamplighters are starting to light up the gardens which means-- “Oh no, the monitors!” This is said in a whisper which is pretty hilarious since he’d been pretty loud before. 

“C’mon,” you grab him by the arm and tug him into the trees. The monitors do their sweeps just before and just after evening services. If you could avoid them for the time it took them to do the sweeps, you could pretend you’d come to the garden _after_ evening services. The monitors probably knew better, but you’d never really gotten in trouble. Berend might be a different story though, if he got caught.

Even with Berend in tow, you manage to avoid the monitors as they search the garden, though there are a couple of close calls. Once the monitors finish their sweep through the gardens, you head toward your cell. Berend follows you halfway there without either of you thinking about it. “Berend, the acolyte dormitories are that way,” you say, pointing.

Berend’s face darkens in a blush. “I wasn’t thinking.” His head tilts down, defensively. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, and heads off toward the dormitories. 

“Goodnight.” You head for your room in the priest quarters. Talia, who is one of your neighbors, is lying in wait. She knows you skipped evening prayers and manages to pry a considerable amount of information out of you, much more than Berend managed, by dint of having watched over you when you were much younger. She’s sympathetic, tries to be encouraging, and sends you to bed with a hug and a hair-ruffle, as if you were still a small child. It’s actually pretty comforting so you don’t make more than a token protest about it. 

Without the sleeping draught, your sleep is restless, but you don’t really remember your dreams. 

While waiting for the Seeress’ response to your letter, you spend the next few days mostly in the library, doing research. You can’t find any reference or example of the text you’ve written in, but do find some reference to the Heroes occasionally speaking in an unknown “secret” language. (The librarians let you into the restricted archive, which is where you found that out. There is a great deal of information about the Heroes, at least the Torrean or Aldyan Incarnations, and even more records at the Great Library according to the librarians.) You are led into an ambush by some deep philosophical treatises about whether the gods have their own language (or not) and if it is the root language that all language is descended from (or not) and you barely manage to escape. 

You find out some interesting practical information you hadn’t been aware of. Apparently, Heroes living in Torre received a stipend, with the understanding that the Empire might request a favor of you during your stay. Other nations that recognized the existence of the Heroes in whatever form had similar set ups. (You ask Brother Akris why no one had told you. Brother Akris asks you how well you did in Civics. You tell him, “not very well.” Brother Akris looks at you expectantly. It takes you a couple seconds, and then you groan. Brother Akris is amused and pats you on the shoulder.)

Berend hangs around whenever he gets the chance. It is almost like the past month condensed except instead of being snide and provoking, he’s sarcastic and full of questions. He asks about growing up at Megido’s main temple, and careful questions about being a street kid. You try to retaliate with personal questions of your own, but it doesn’t work and you end up learning a lot about troll child-villages, and how apprenticeships are arranged. He also tells you about how he was chosen to enter the priesthood. 

“Everyone thought I’d pick the Lady of Truth, but I picked Lady Time instead.” A pause. “ _I_ thought I was going to pick the Lady of Truth, but Lady Time’s sigil popped out at me.”

“They don’t let you pick whether to become a priest, but they let you pick the god?”

Berend nods. “A certain number of wrigglers are just chosen to go to the temple, and they go to Whoever they’re drawn closest to.” 

He asks you to spar a couple times, and you take him up on it. He’s good with a sword but his preferred weapon is a type of halberd, one with a long curved blade at the end of the staff. He’s much better with the halberd, which he treats more like a quarterstaff than like a bladed weapon. Sparring with him is fun and takes your mind off of the things you are trying not to worry too much about. 

You dream and the dreams are terrible, as if they are trying to get back at you for taking the sleeping draught. You dream of a battle against a demon, and a door. You dream of anger, loss and the creation of a new universe. You dream of dying. You dream of a city of strange, block-like towers again, and being stalked, hunted by a terrifying puppet. (Or was it a man? You are being stalked by a man who hates and avoids you while always being a continuous, inescapable presence.) You dream of weeping in the arms of someone who was and wasn’t your brother. (“This is messed up. This is so fucking messed up,” you tell him.) You dream of four figures burning with a terrible light. 

It takes six days for the Seeress’ response letter to arrive. The other letters had arrived within a day or two. 

_To the Hero of Time Dave Strider, Acolyte of Megido,_

_My apologies for taking so long to reply to your letter. Something had been brought to my attention and I needed to make inquiries. These inquiries are ongoing, but you are of course welcome to stay with me for a time while you regain your memories of the past. I recommend bringing a companion with you, possibly the young teal troll His Grace has told me about._

_No, you do not need a duenna. Perish the thought. Merely a familiar face and someone to talk to. A carriage will be arriving for you on the twelfth._

_With Regard,_

_Rose Lalonde, Hero of Light, Imperial Advisor_

The twelfth was two days from now. You had two days to prepare--and apparently find someone to come with you, because the Seeress was going to be busy with some mysterious errand. The Seeress had apparently thought you were going to object to the idea of needing a companion, but instead you are nonplussed. All of your plusses are gone, carried off by Terling raiders, never to be seen again. Gods save you from the fury of the Terlings. Because she suggests you bring Berend. You like him a lot better than you did a couple weeks ago, but Berend is not someone who springs immediately to mind as someone to bring with you. If you were going to pick anyone, it would be Talia, you think. 

You take the letter to the high priest, who doesn’t seem at all surprised about its contents. “I would agree that you need a companion. Or an attendant,” he says. “Someone near your own age.”

“Berend though, Your Grace?” You liked the idea of an attendant--a servant--even less than the idea of a companion.

“Is there anyone else you know well enough to want with you, Master Strider?” The high priest asks. 

“Talia, but she’s going to be going on the expedition to Shmai,” you say. “Um. Maybe Theria or Kadran, we talk sometimes after arms practice and between classes and our duties.”

You ask each of them in turn, and it’s Berend who says yes. 


	4. A Familiar Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unofficially betaed by [edenfalling.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/edenfalling)

Berend helps you pack. (Your clothes, your books, your fossil collection, your life. Your room looks empty now with everything packed away.) At the end of it, he’s sitting on your trunk, and you’re sitting on your bed. “I know you’re not happy about me going with you,” he says, not looking at you. “I’m sorry.”

“Actually I’m more disappointed that Theria and Kadran said no,” you tell him. Theria hadn’t wanted to be dismissed from her duties. Kadran hadn’t wanted to fall behind in his studies. Neither wanted to be your be your “companion,” expressing a general feeling of unease at the idea, as if being your companion meant choosing between you and Megido. _“You’re good at acting like one of us, but you’re something more,”_ Kadran had said. _“It’s getting harder to pretend that you’re just another acolyte, like me.”_ Theria had said something similar. “And wondering why you said yes.”

Berend gives you a furtive, unhappy look and stares down at his hands. “I would have said ‘no,’ because I know we still don’t get along,” he says lowly. “But She told me to say ‘yes.’”

“‘She?’” you ask.

“Lady Time,” Berend said, shifting uncomfortably on the trunk. 

“The goddess talks to you,” you say flatly. 

Berend shrugs. “The same as She talks to anyone,” he says. 

She has notably, never talked to you. “Did She say why?”

“No. She just said I should go with you,” Berend says. He looks uncomfortable. “It might be because I’m magi? That’s the feeling I got when She told me, anyway.”

“You’re magi?” you ask. “I’ve never seen you use magic.”

This gets you a brief, sly smile. “You’ve never _seen_ me use magic,” he says. Your pillow levitates and hits you in the head. “I can move small objects, and sense if someone is lying. I might have Seer abilities.” 

“Why hide it?”

Berend shrugs. “I haven’t been, really, it’s just better not to boast.” Berend flushes a little. “I pinched you and tripped you across the room a couple times.” Well, now you knew that Brother Sylva and Sisters Ahnia and Maris were completely innocent of goosing you. You hit him with your pillow. Berend takes the blow, and apologizes, still blushing. 

“The Seeress wanted me to pick you too,” you say after a little while. “Though she gave me enough leeway in her letter that I asked some friends of mine first.” You flop back onto your bed. “They said no. Among the reasons they gave why they couldn’t, they said they felt like they’d have to choose between me and Lady Time.” You squint at him. “You apparently don’t feel that way.”

“I do, a little bit,” Berend says. “But She told me to.” He shrugs.

“What if they put you in the servant’s quarters?” You ask purely to annoy him. “Since you’re going to be my ‘attendant.’”

It works; Berend gives you a scowl. “Maybe I won’t have to share a room, since I’m an acolyte. I’ve never had a room of my own before.”

“Are you going to be able to keep up with your classwork?” That had been Kadran’s major sticking point, aside from you being the Hero of Time.

“I’m sure I’ll have plenty of time to study,” Berend said. “And I’ll be spending two days of the week here, with tutors.” 

You talk some more, asking him about his magi abilities and needling him a little bit now and then. It’s around two of the clock when a couple acolytes arrive to tell you that the carriage has arrived. They help you carry your and Berend’s luggage to the carriage, and load it for you.

The Seeress’ mansion is close to the Imperial Palace near the center of the city. There’s a high white wall all around it, and a wrought iron gate with sea monsters with curling tentacles. There’s a house guard station set up to one side of the gate and the house guard exchanges words with the driver, before letting the carriage clatter into the courtyard. 

Footmen come out of the mansion, along with the major domo. The footmen immediately go for the luggage while the major domo opens the carriage door (just as you reach for the latch). The major domo is a tall woman with dark hair and eyes. She steps back with a curtsey. “Master Strider, Brother, you are both very welcome here. My mistress is in contemplation in the chapel, but has left instructions to make you both comfortable.” 

“Thank you,” you say as you climb out of the carriage. Berend follows you. “This is Brother Berend,” you say.

The major domo nods, and curtseys again. “If you’ll please follow me to where you’ll be staying?” She asks, and then sweeps up the marble stairs toward the front door, which has a stained glass window above it, a sunburst against a blue sky. She opens the door for the both of you. The foyer has a tile floor with a swirling pattern that makes you slightly dizzy to look at it. You’re led up a winding staircase and down a hallway or two. Your destination is a two bedroom suite with a sitting room, study, and a bathing room. The major domo shows you the bell pull for summoning a servant after giving you a brief tour of the suite. (The footmen pile your luggage in the sitting room and abscond.) 

“Is there anything you need, sirs?” she asks finally. 

“No thank you,” you say, and Berend echoes. 

The major domo nods. “Dinner will be at six of the clock; a servant will come and see you to the dining room. Please feel free to use the bell if you need anything.” With that, she curtsies and leaves. 

“Looks like you didn’t end up in the servant’s quarters,” you tell Berend. 

He rolls his eyes at you, picks up his luggage and goes into the smaller bedroom.

You drag your luggage into your new bedroom and start to unpack. The four poster bed is big enough for two or three people, and has a curtain. The floor is covered with an off white carpet with a pattern of blue flowers. There’s a window with thick panes of glass that looks out on a garden. The curtains are a pale blue, and the walls are a slightly darker shade of blue. You put your clothes in the wardrobe, and leave your fossils and books in their cases for now, setting the trunk at the foot of the bed.

You feel lost and disconnected, unsure of what to do next. Not much different from what you’d been feeling before, really. You wander out of the bedroom and give the suite a more detailed exploration. The floor is wood, and covered with intricately patterned rugs. There are paintings on the walls (three vaguely allegorical, one a still life, one a portrait of a young woman with dark hair), and a tall clock on the mantelpiece in the sitting room. The furniture is a couch and two chairs upholstered in the same blue brocade fabric, with a low table in the middle of the setting. There are oil lamps set on low tables around the sitting room. You’re joined by Berend, who looks as lost (and bored) as you feel. The study has another low couch in blue brocade, a desk in one corner, and mostly empty bookcases. (The selection of books is mostly legends and wonder-tales, with a few histories thrown in.) In the study, you both find a number of board games and a deck of cards. You and he end up playing ori until dinner time.

The Seeress makes an appearance at dinner. She’s a small woman in a violet gown with pale skin and sharp features. There’s a splash of freckles across her nose and cheeks that she makes no effort at hiding with cosmetics. Her eyes are a bright pinkish purple, and her hair is white, long and dressed in a simple braid with dark violet ribbons woven in. She looks nothing like you, which isn’t at all surprising--and you wonder if there was ever a time when you did look alike. Are you really brother and sister, or was your relationship metaphorical, like the siblinghood of Megido’s Order? For a moment, you deliberately try to remember; imagining those startling eyes in another face, but nothing comes.

The Seeress smiles at both of you, and apologizes for not greeting you sooner. “The situation I mentioned in the letter is still ongoing and I’ve been in consultation ever since.”

You poke at your dinner, thin strips of meat in some kind of sauce, and asparagus spears. “What kind of situation?” you ask, just to see if she’ll answer you.

You expect to be put off; you’re only fifteen after all, even if you’re supposed to be the Hero of Time, but the Seeress smiles wryly. “A complicated one, dear brother. Both politically and metaphysically...and in a sense you are directly involved.”

“Me? How?” 

The Seeress doesn’t respond at first, poking at the contents of her own plate. “Dave, you don’t remember, but you had a brother,” she says finally. 

Somehow, you feel uneasy about this announcement. “A brother?” A brother you don’t remember. Older? Or younger? Your mother would have told you, wouldn’t she? 

“Not in this life, but in the first one. The very first,” the Seeress says. “You had a brother, I had a mother. Jade and John had a grandfather and a grandmother respectively.” She looks to Berend, who is looking very wide-eyed. “We had to have to come from somewhere,” she tells him with an odd smile. 

“Y-yes, of course Seeress,” he says in a boggled sort of voice.

“And of course if you’re asked, you may repeat what you’ve heard, but tell His Grace from me that he should come to me directly with any questions.”

“Y-yes Seeress.” Berend becomes extremely fascinated by his dinner.

“And this ‘situation’ has something to do with my brother,” you say. Something, a fragment of a dream, something like a memory comes to you. You see a man’s face, impassive behind strange, dark pointed spectacles, a sword; you remember the feeling of sliding against a hard surface. You’re breathless suddenly, full of a helpless sick anger you can’t explain. “What about him?” You try to keep your tone even, but it’s hard.

The Seeress gives you a sympathetic look, as if she knows what’s going on in your head right now, and maybe she does. “You’ll remember the details of this later but we thought they had died. They weren’t reborn the way we were, and we searched for them--for years, lifetimes--but we never found them.” She trails off. 

“Until now,” you say. It’s not a question. 

“We’ve found Dirk,” She says, and the name _Dirk_ awakens a completely different feeling in you, one that unknots the anger in your chest. Another image comes to you: of a boy your own age or nearly, with the same dark pointed spectacles, looking at you with tilted brows and the slightest of smiles. “He’s the second son of the King of Selwer,” she continues after a slight pause, and you’re sure this time that she knows what’s going on in your head. “Whom we were recently at war with. He’s thirteen, and coming to Torre as a hostage, and hasn’t awakened to his memories yet.”

“What’s his name, in this lifetime I mean?” You ask.

“Adron mic Allister of House Allister,” she says. She doesn’t tell you more than that, saying only that you aren’t ready for the political questions and that the metaphysical ones aren’t relevant yet. Berend tries to ask a few tentative questions of his own, but the Seeress puts him off for the same reason. The conversation turns to other matters, like what you’re going to be doing in this huge house, and the steps you need to go through to acquire your stipend. (The phrase “Imperial Presentation” only briefly interrupts your conflicting emotions about this “brother” of yours.) After dinner, the Seeress gives you a tour of the mansion.

When you return to your suite, both of you are buzzing with nerves and information. Berend wants to talk about it; you don’t. You’re unsettled and disturbed by what the Seeress revealed, and by images of the boy dressed in strange maroon clothes, with the same dark pointed spectacles as the man you had seen. (Remembered.) You have no idea of what to do about the conflicting feelings and images that were drifting to the surface concerning your ‘brother.’ You have even less idea of what to think about his apparent rebirth. “Let’s talk about anything except Adron mic Allister of House Allister,” you tell Berend. 

Berend gives you a disappointed look, but relents. He reaches for the ori set. “Do you want to play?”

You nod. “Sure.” 

Despite a sincere desire to distract yourself, you can’t stop thinking about what you’ve learned. This renders your game strategy a total failure. After losing to him three times, Berend loudly wonders why he ever thought you were a worthy rival and refuses to play a fourth game. “I’m going to bed, and you probably should too,” Berend says, and starts putting up the ori set. 

Bossy little... “Fine,” you say, and retreat to your room, where you eventually fall asleep. 

Someone’s hand slips into yours. Garnet eyes laugh at you. “Let me show you a thing,” she says, and tugs you into a moment: 

_You are painting images on a cavern wall: horses, bison, deer and a hunting party armed with spears in the center. You’ve been working on this section of the wall for days now, and are almost done. The spell woman had better appreciate the work you’re putting into this for the Standing Sun Rite or you’re painting crows all over everything she owns._

“Did you see how that went?” the garnet-eyed woman asked. You shake your head, not understanding, and still remembering the feel of stone under your fingers. “Here, I’ll do it again.” Something shifts and you are:

_...riding across the steppe with the Tor’s men in hot pursuit. Arrows are whizzing past your ears and really, you’d think they’d be more careful since they might hit the Tor’s daughter. Ti Mai is laughing breathlessly in your ear, arms tight around your waist. By the gods, this girl is crazier than you are, and you’re godstouched._

“Oh,” you say, suddenly understanding. Heart still pounding from the ride, you slip sideways and:

_“How are you feeling?” you ask as you enter the room._

_“Like I just had a baby my lord,” Anya says with dry, sleepy amusement. “You were a good if unexpected midwife.”_

_“Thank you,” you say. You had been frozen at first, knowing all the ways childbirth could go wrong, before, during and after. But had done your best until the real physician and midwife appeared, and the queen looked well, and had had a healthy daughter._

“This won’t fix the problem of the nightmares,” the garnet-eyed woman says. “But it might help you explore your various pasts.”

“Thank you,” you say, and fall into a deeper sleep. 


	5. Various Pasts

You wake up confused and completely lost in the goose feather bed. For a moment, you have no idea where you are, and then you remember you’re in the Seeress’ home. It’s barely light yet, and you’re haunted by a pair of garnet eyes. You had dreamed that you had been taught a way to call forth a memory, and your teacher had been Megido. Of course, you had also dreamed that you had been put in charge of a basket of mischievous kittens who kept escaping the basket and getting stuck in inconvenient places. (Kittens were a definite improvement over other things you’d been dreaming of.) 

You wallow out of the soft bed, standing to recite a prayer in honor of Lady Time, just to be safe. You don’t receive any mystical acknowledgement of your prayer, but you aren’t disappointed about it. As for what you learned, you reach out in the way that you were taught and:

_The storm outside is raging fit to knock the shingles off the roof of your tiny house, but you’re warm by the fire, mending your nets. Your cat is less copacetic about the situation. She’s huddling under the bed in the loft, and occasionally yowling for you to do something about the inclement weather._

You come out of the memory wondering how many lifetimes you’d had where your life was lost in obscurity, (where you let your life be lost in obscurity) no one knowing what the portents meant. That lifetime had been spent in a village in Barathi, on the shores of the Eastern Ocean. Your strange dreams, your white hair and red eyes had marked you as possibly a demon, but that had only meant that the villagers treated you with the same cautious respect they gave a witch. 

(The Barathi word for demon did not especially mean an entirely malevolent being, you recall. It meant a dangerous being that collected either good or bad luck. You had had to be especially generous when something bad happened to one of the fisherfolk, just to keep things “balanced.” Not that you wouldn’t have been anyway, you just had to make things clear to your neighbors that you didn’t mean them any bad luck.)

You stood there a while, just taking in the information that was coming to you. It was a little disturbing, but it didn’t feel as if you were being taken over by someone else. It was as if you were recalling something that happened not very long ago. The impressions still sharp but beginning to fade. You’re pretty sure you could still repair a net, or gut a fish. 

You thought that there were probably a lot of things that you could do, that you’ve never actually done before. You knew it logically, but this is the first time you felt it. This is the first time you knew it, the realization coming to the surface. That it was something real. You remember that you’ve learned to ride a horse multiple times. (With and without stirrups. You prefer stirrups; they are so damned convenient.) You remember that you could paint several different ways and probably make your own pigments with a little experimentation. You’ve been a scrivener a few times, a clockmaker ( _“because of the irony,”_ a voice whispers in the back of your head), a musician, a soldier, a carpenter, a warrior, a fisherman, even farmer once or twice. 

Somewhere way down deep is a feeling of complete _relief_. Most of the Incarnations you’d been told about had done something. They (or you) had stopped or started wars, rescued the hopeless, saved lives. Saved nations. Those lives you’d been told about had been mythic, legendary, impossible, intimidating. You hadn’t been told about lives where nothing happened except the occasional visit from one of your friends. You hadn’t been told about lives lived in peace and obscurity with no one calling upon you for aid. Where the most important decisions you had to make were utterly mundane things like when you were going to the market or from whom you were going to buy oak galls for ink. For all the nightmares of death and violence you’ve been having, you’ve had lives where the most violence you experienced was the occasional tavern brawl. _If you didn’t want to, you didn’t have to be a hero._

You realize that you’ve been standing still for quite some time, looking down at your hands. You give yourself a mental shake, then dress and comb your hair, before going into the sitting room. The clock on the mantelpiece shows that it’s a quarter to six. You light a couple lamps, and pull the cord to call a servant. A maid arrives within a few minutes. “Could you bring breakfast? Or is it too early?” The Seeress had mentioned that she usually got up around nine at the earliest, but you weren’t sure what time the household usually started the day. 

“Of course sir,” the maid replied. “Was there anything you particularly wanted?”

“Fried eggs, toast and ham,” you say. “For both me and my companion. Tea.”

The maid curtseys. “I’ll let Cook know, sir,” she says and absconds.

You shut the door, and knock on Berend’s door. You hear a muffled, “What is it?” from the other side. 

You wonder what time Berend managed to get to sleep. “I ordered breakfast, were you going to laze the day away?”

“I’m awake, I just can’t find my way out of this monstrosity of a bed,” Berend says. You hear movement, followed by the sound of Berend beginning his morning prayers. 

You go into the study and find a translation of _March to the Sea_ , and settle down to read before breakfast. You don’t get too far into it when the food arrives a half hour later. The servants set up small folding tables by the couch and chair, set the low table and abscond. Berend exits his bedroom at about the same time, fully dressed but his hair a wild forest of spikes and tangles around his horns. “Did you sleep well?” you ask, amused. You make a plate for yourself from the platters on the table.

“I slept fine, though I nearly drowned in the in the goose down until I made a raft from some books,” Berend says, and makes a plate for himself as well. He gives you a sharp look. “I’d ask how you slept, but I already have a good idea.”

“The walls seem pretty thick, you couldn’t have heard me snoring,” you joke, and eat a mouthful of egg.

Berend is unimpressed by your humor. “I won’t pry, but I could sense that you had a visitation,” he says, and makes a sandwich of toast, ham and egg. 

“Just letting me know you know.” You wonder if the Seeress had sensed anything. (Then you wonder at the apprehensiveness of that thought. Also, of course she had probably sensed it. She was a Seer.) 

Berend nods, and takes a bite out of his sandwich. He chews and swallows and then says, “Do you remember your appointments?” 

“Appointments? I have appointments?” You ask. You remember the Seeress saying a lot of things, but most of what she said was a blur. You remember her talking about her home, about the steps you needed to take to get your stipend, and a lot of other things, like Imperial Presentations. 

Berend smirks, extremely amused by your dumbfoundedness. “I’ll play secretary, then,” he says. In between bites of sandwich, he explains that the Seeress wants to talk to you privately sometime after her breakfast. He tells you that you will be getting fitted for an entirely new wardrobe sometime this week and then going to get your stipend set up. “And then you have to get ready for your Imperial Presentation,” he finishes. 

“This was just supposed to be a visit to get over the dreams I’ve been having,” you say, somewhat dismayed. You weren’t sure you were ready for an Imperial Presentation. You weren’t sure what it would even entail. Introductions, sure, but what were you supposed to say and do?

Berend shrugged. “Better to get it done now, than later?” 

“Maybe.”

“And it might also because of your brother,” Berend says thoughtfully. “Getting you both on equal standing, since he’s a prince.”

“And I’m street trash? And will still be street trash even with a fancy new wardrobe?”

Berend tucks his chin in defensively, and flushes. “You’re the Hero of Time,” he says. “It doesn’t matter where you come from; you’re still the Hero of Time.” 

_“It doesn’t matter where anyone comes from,”_ you say sharply. 

Berend blinks at you, looking slightly alarmed. “What?”

You repeat what you said, this time in Torren. 

“Does that happen a lot, suddenly speaking another language?”

You shrug. “Not a lot, but sometimes.” Enough times that it was pretty disturbing. 

Berend looks away. “Well, you’re right, whatever language you end up saying it in,” he says. 

“Finish your breakfast and then go comb out your hair,” you say after an uncomfortable moment of silence between the two of you. 

Berend sneers. “Not my house-parent, or my moirail,” he says, and finishes off his sandwich. He wipes his fingers off on a napkin, and retreats to the bathing room. 

After breakfast you ring the bell for the servants to come clear away the breakfast dishes. Then you continue reading _March to the Sea_. Berend retrieves one of his textbooks to study. 

It’s a quarter past ten when a maid comes to guide you to a sitting room, where the Seeress is waiting for you. She’s sitting in a chair upholstered in fabric with a pattern of roses, and gestures for you to take a seat on the matching couch set adjacent to the chair. “Hello Dave, I hope you slept well?” she asks. 

“Yes, Seeress,” you say as you sit.

She smiles at you. “Could I convince you to call me Rose?” 

“I’m used to calling you Seeress,” you say. “But I could try.”

“Thank you,” she says. “I wanted to have this conversation primarily to answer any questions you might have about your various pasts and awakening to your memories. I’m also willing to clarify anything you might have missed last night.” 

“Berend filled me in on some of that,” you say. “About making arrangements to have me fitted for a new wardrobe and applying for a stipend. And the Imperial Presentation.” 

“Would it make you feel better if I told you that the Emperor is the one presenting himself to you?” The Seeress asks.

You wonder if she’s joking, but you can sense somehow that she’s not. “I’m the one being presented to?”

“We aren’t just powerful magi, and the Empire remembers that,” Rose says. “That might be a little overwhelming to realize, but it’s true.” 

_“But you Master Strider are more a holy and honored guest than an acolyte here.”_ You remember the high priest’s words, and it makes something in the back of your head stir. Even though you had been kept more or less separate from the other acolytes, you’d always been treated by your teachers as an ordinary student. You weren’t sure how you felt about being treated as more, but it made you uncomfortable. “I remembered having lives where I wasn’t important, where people didn’t know I was any different from anyone else,” you say.

“I think you’ll find Dave, that people knew you were different, but didn’t know what to do about it,” The Seeress says. 

You shrug. “Maybe.” You remember the life of a Hati warrior on the steppes. You’d been considered godstouched, and powerful then. You remember the life of a fisherman on the shores of the Eastern Ocean. Your neighbors had thought you were a demon. (But it was a big step from being godstouched to a god, you thought.) “I’m not sure what to ask about my past or about last night,” you say. “Could I ask about you?” Maybe if you knew more about the Seeress’ past your own would be less disturbing. 

“About me?” Rose asks curiously. “What would you like to know?”

“Could you tell me how you were found?” 

“I was born in Ulan, one of the northern provinces, in the Suryat mountains,” Rose says. “I grew up on a farm, and I was eight when Seekers of the Maryam Order finally found me. I was already starting to have visions and nightmares--I terrified my poor parents.” She shook her head. “They thought I was possessed, which I was, in a way, but by my memories, not a demon.” 

“What was it like, leaving your home?” You ask.

Rose smiles a little. “Oh, it was a mess. My parents didn’t want me to leave. Mother burst into tears; Father became extremely offended when one of the Seekers pointed out that he wouldn’t have to pay for my dowry if I left. As if that would convince him.” She laughs. “I have a herd of sheep being cared for by my oldest brother’s kin, and the deed to twenty acres of uncleared land for a dowry. Well, it was uncleared land. The last time I was up there, I had my oldest brother’s grandson sell the deed to some Nitram monks who wanted to start an orphanage.”

“Oh.” My oldest brother’s grandson. You’re reminded (yet again) how old she is, despite how she looks. She doesn’t look much older than Talia, but she’s nearly a hundred. “How many brothers and sisters did you have?” You ask. 

“Three sisters and two brothers,” Rose says. “I was the youngest.”

“What was it like, having brothers and sisters?” you ask. 

“A very mixed blessing,” Rose says with a smile. “We never really fought like some families do, but we did have our little feuds with each other, usually over small things, like who forgot to do a chore that was traded, or accusations of stolen property.” She sighs, looking a little wistful. “We’d play these elaborate games of make-believe, usually authored by our middle sister Lanthia, full of knights and kings and queens. Or we’d go down to the pond and swim in the summer. We always tended to do things as a group, which could be a little frustrating when you’re the baby of the family, and prefer to be alone some times. Everyone is always dragging you somewhere when you just want to play with the barnyard kittens.”

The image of a small child being dragged, protesting, away from kittens makes you smile. You wonder what it would be like to have family other than your mother. Brothers and sisters. You knew you could go looking for times when you had brothers and sisters, and you thought you might do it, but not yet. “What was your first life like?” you ask. 

“Very strange,” Rose says. “I grew up alone on a distant estate with only my mother for company.” She looks down at her hands for a moment. “I only knew you, Jade and John as colored text viewed on a strange device.”

“I remember that,” you say. “I dreamed it. Conversations entirely in text, on a device that you could tap to create words.”

Rose nods. “A _computer_ and a _keyboard_ , respectively.” She gives you an intent look. “What else do you remember?” 

“I remember--I dreamed of talking to you using the computer,” you say as a little more comes to you. “And to someone whose text was blue and another’s who was bright green.”

“John’s text was blue, Jade’s was bright green,” Rose says. “Do you remember anything about them?”

You frown. “John’s house was filled with jesters, dolls, pictures and statues of them, and his dad baked cakes, like a lot of them, all the time. He complained about it. Jade lived on an island, and had a dog named Becquerel.” Something about that last makes you uneasy. There had been something about the dog, something that had happened--but all you get is the feeling of uneasiness. “That’s all I can remember,” you confess.

“I don’t want to push you to remember more than you’re ready for,” Rose said. “Your memories will come when they come.”

“I dreamed that Megido came to me, and showed me a way to look through my memories,” you say. “But you’re saying I should wait for the memories to come?” 

“You should trust Megido’s instruction, and work at your own pace,” Rose says with a smile. “We need your help, but we’re also trying not to rush you.” She pauses. “Some of us anyway. I would have waited before teaching you the technique. Did Megido say anything else?” 

You shake your head. “Not really. Just that it wouldn’t make the nightmares go away.”

“Nothing really makes the nightmares go away,” Rose says. “I still have them, and so do John and Jade.”

“Will I be meeting them soon?” you ask. 

“Eventually,” Rose says. “They both know of the situation, so it’s likely we’ll see Jade. John is possibly less likely,” Rose continues with a wry smile. “He still harbors a great deal of hatred toward Torre, so he’s unlikely to come here.”

“Because of the invasion of Aldya,” you say, remembering from both your history lessons and your exploration of the restricted archives at the temple. The Hero of Breath had died horribly in his efforts to keep back the invasion, but he’d failed in the end--and held a grudge against Torre that had lasted centuries. 

Rose nods. “His grudge has lessened somewhat, but he still doesn’t like coming here.” She sighs, and shakes her head, looking sad for a moment. When the moment passes, she says, “I think we should turn from questions of the past, to questions of the present. When should we make an appointment for the tailor?”


	6. Appointments

You manage to make it back to the suite on your own, though you stop a few times to look at artwork. There were paintings, tapestries, and statues in alcoves. Much of the artwork seemed to depict Maryam and myths about Her. You see Maryam as the Lady of the Jagged Blade, Maryam in her Garden and Maryam as the Physician. There’s also some artwork featuring the other gods: Vantas and the Stone Boat, Nitram taming the beasts of the field and others. You also see quite a few Aldyan pieces featuring the One God and the Four Heroes. You recognize some of the stories depicted, but only from stories, not memories.

(There’s the Hero of Time confronting the wicked king Alcheb, showing him the future on a shield, and the Hero of Breath speaking to the gathered kings. You see the Hero of Light speaking with the poetess-prophet Oran in her father’s garden, and the Hero of Space raising the stones of law at Kora. In the Aldyan paintings, there’s always a red edged black silhouette or shadow by or near the Heroes, the traditional representation of the One God in Aldyan art.)

When you walk in, you find Berend on the couch, asleep with a textbook in his lap. His mouth is open and he is snoring. You shut the door hard, and he jumps awake at the bang, and then scrambles to recover the fallen textbook. He gives you an annoyed look. “Very funny Strider,” he says, and goes back to his book.

You step over to the couch. “Thanks for letting me know about my appointments,” you tell him, and give the back of his head a push. He pushes back, trying to get you with one of his horns. You laugh and dodge away from him.

“You’re welcome. Ass.” He makes a dirty gesture at you, and returns to his textbook.

You’re tempted to keep teasing him, but this is definitely not something you should do. (On the other hand, it’s funny.) Instead of possibly, accidentally, reigniting Berend’s pitch interest, you pick up the copy of _March to the Sea_ , settle into a chair and pick up where you left off. A few paragraphs into the book, and you hear a snore coming from Berend’s direction. Peering over your book, you can see that Berend’s head is nodding back, and he’s losing his grip on his book. This is almost cute. “Berend,” you say, and he jumps awake, giving you a muzzy glare. “How much sleep didn’t you get last night?”

The glare intensifies. “I slept maybe three hours,” he says. “I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh. You should probably take a nap.”

“Still not my moirail, Strider,” he says, and readjusts his book and continues to read. Or tries to read; it doesn’t look like his eyes are really focusing on the page.

You go back to reading. A few minutes later, you hear another snore. “Berend.”

“I don’t need a nap!”

“You were snoring just now.”

“No I wasn’t.”

“You really were.” You peer at him over your book. “Lie down, and try not to snore too loud.”

Grumbling, Berend does as you tell him this time, stretching out on the couch. This is also almost cute.

You go back to your book.

The rest of the day is quiet. Your night, predictably, is not. You dream of fighting and dying over and over again, of creating loops in time. You dream of a Green Sun and flying slowly up through the layers and you keep dying and coming back and dying again. You dream of a battle that ends with a death amid an unbelievable maelstrom of chaos. (You dream of awakening from that death and you are so sorry, and so is she.) You dream of talking to Dirk, of fighting beside him. You dream of a door that you are all gathered around. You dream of four glowing figures surrounded by twelve circular slabs of stone. In the dream you aren’t sure what they’re doing will work, if they’ll even survive what they’re trying to do. (You thought they hadn’t.)

The next day, Rose takes you in the carriage to the building that houses the Bureau of Metaphysics to get your stipend set up. This involves filling out a form a clerk hands you, and then talking to a magus who is thrilled to meet you, and tells you so. The magus confirms you’re who you say you are, and fills out a form of some kind. Once this is over, Rose shows you around the building. “How much is the stipend supposed to be,” you ask her. “Will I be able to afford a mansion like yours?”

Rose laughs. “The mansion was a gift from Emperor Kadrian,” she says. “And I get paid more than the stipend because I’m actively working for the Emperor. You’ll be able to afford something more modest--a townhouse--if you decide to move.”

“I think I’ll stay with you, for now,” you tell her.

“Your company is welcome,” she says.

Rose introduces you to Kolaus Varist, the Bureau Chief. Varist is a tall, graying magus with piercing brown eyes and a hawk’s beak of a nose. Varist tells you about the purpose of the Bureau (to support the Incarnations should they be in the Empire, investigate supernatural occurrences and magical crimes) and how the Bureau was founded (by Emperor Kadrian at the insistence of the Hero of Light after she uncovered and destroyed a goetic conspiracy). “We’re here to provide the Incarnations with assistance while they’re in the Empire, with the understanding that the Incarnations are here to help the Empire.”

“Even the Hero of Breath?” you ask, remembering your conversation with Rose the other day. How did John see Rose? How was John going to see you? (These were not things you had really thought of, before. You knew one Incarnation; you knew you’d eventually meet others. The part where they were your _friends_ had been part of the story, but not a thing you thought of experiencing.)

Varist looks amused. “The Hero of Breath has never applied for a stipend, though he’s occasionally been reason for investigation,” he says. “He tends to be blamed for wrecked ships, ruined crops and the like.”

“John hasn't been at war with Torre in generations Kolaus. He wouldn't do either of those things intentionally,” Rose says in the tone of voice of someone who has made this point before multiple times.

_“Intentionally,”_ Varist repeats. “Unintentionally is another matter. But I’m sure the young lord doesn’t want to sit in on this old argument. Do you have any other questions, sir?”

You’re not sure how you feel about being a _young lord_. “Um. If he did apply, what would happen?”

“We’d process it, and hope we weren’t part of some divine prank,” Varist says dryly. “His feelings about the Torren Empire are believed to be very strong and very negative.”

After some more talk, you and Rose go back to the mansion. “You were very curious about John, and his relationship with Torre,” Rose notes in the carriage.

“A little,” you admit. “I was thinking more about you and him. Are you friends? Does he think you’re--we’re-- traitors because we’re Torren?”

“That’s a complicated question,” Rose says. “Aldya was--is--a very special place for all four of us. It was the only place where we were all born close together and at the same time. But we were scattered when Torre invaded...only John was living in Aldya at the time, and the only one who could defend it. We did what we could afterward, but it was mostly to punish the Torrens for having killed John, than to make them leave Aldya.” She smiles slightly. “John doesn’t think we’re traitors. We’ve had some fairly impressive arguments though. And he tried to kidnap me twice when he discovered I’d been born in Torre.”

“He tried to kidnap you?” You ask.

Rose nods. “It didn’t work, though I let him succeed the second time simply because I wanted to explain to him that he was being ridiculous.”

You ask more questions, about John, about Aldya on the way back to the mansion. Rose answers your questions, and tells you stories. You have a lot to think about, when you get back to your suite. You try to remember from the stories she told you about John, about you and John, but you can’t come up with anything that isn’t colored by her words. You push a little, hoping to fall into a memory, but nothing comes.

Eventually, Berend gets bored and drags you down to the garden to spar.

The fitting takes place two days later. The tailor is Rose’s usual tailor (according to Rose). He’s a short aggressive man who runs his assistants like a drill sergeant. You are frankly baffled by the amount of clothing you’ll apparently need; Court clothes, day clothes, evening dress. (The latter turns out to be clothes you wear to dinner, not clothes you wear to bed.) Rose is paying for your clothes. She keeps remembering new things you might need. You don’t mind the amount of clothing, it’s just that your previous wardrobe consisted of three tunics, three under tunics, three underpants, three pairs of trousers, and matching sashes, sandals, a coat and boots for winter and one nightshirt. You are not used to the variety of clothing options being made available to you. Mental adjustments need to be made for the largesse.

(Berend thinks your reactions are hilarious and keeps making suggestions that the tailor actually appears to be listening to. You are not pleased. Then the tailor refers to Berend as your valet, which for some reason flusters him. You _think_ it might be because of pale quadrant reasons, but refrain from teasing him about it. Until you can come up with something good enough.)

It takes two weeks for the clothes to be to be ready. You spend those two weeks getting ready for the Imperial Presentation. This involves diving into various books on etiquette and being quizzed over formal dinners by Rose. (She makes you memorize what piece of silverware goes where and then has the table set up incorrectly, so you have to put everything where it belongs. Your sister is a cruel, cruel woman.) Berend is surprisingly helpful with helping you to study. (You feel obliged to return the favor, tutoring him in his current subjects--history, natural science and rhetoric.)

When you get the chance, you explore your memories. You experience lives lived in wealth and in poverty, lifetimes that are filled with excitement and lifetimes that are kind of boring. You experience lives lived all over the world, different cultures and languages. Sometimes you have to go to Rose’s library, consulting maps and geography books to find out where you were living. Sometimes you can’t find where you were living because the place had been destroyed by war or a cataclysm. You talk to Rose about your memories, and she shares a few of her own.

The hardest memories to look at are from your first life. You have little to no frame of reference for the things you see and experience and you have the overwhelming certainty that what you experienced in that lifetime wasn’t normal even by whatever alien standards existed in that other world. (None of your first lives could be called normal. The four of you were being prepared for some strange Game that created and destroyed universes.) You talk to Rose about your first life and your “Bro,” though it’s difficult at times. “He was trying to make me a hero, that’s what he’d tell me,” you say at one point. “But whatever he thought he was doing wasn’t any kind of training. All he did was make me afraid, and later angry and confused.”

“I know,” Rose says. “There were reasons why your brother was the way he was, but it doesn’t excuse the way he treated you.” She pauses. “I wish I had been able to help you in that first life, but--”

“You had your own troubles,” you tell her. “And I never would have gone to you with my problems, or how much I envied you your relatively uncomplicated feelings about your mother.”

“I’m not sure how I would have taken that point of view,” Rose says wryly. “They were extremely complicated, to me.”

“You were happy when you saw Roxy,” you say. “I could barely talk to Dirk at first. All I could see was my Bro, which coincidentally, was all he was thinking about when he was looking at me.” It feels so weird talking so plainly about it now. _“Time and distance will do that,”_ something in the back of your head whispers.

“Will you be able to talk to him this time?” Rose asks.

“I don’t know--maybe? Except he’s a prince and Selwerens don’t believe in the Heroes, or worship the gods the same way, so I’ll just be street trash to him when he finds out.”

“He’ll understand that you have been given some sort of important religious rank,” Rose says in return. “And he’ll respect that, or at least be polite about it.” She gives you a thoughtful look. “And I do not think he will judge you based on where you grew up. His own life has been difficult up to this point.”

This is more than she’s offered to say about him before. “What can you tell me?”

“When he was born, his mother was accused of a combination of adultery and witchcraft. Both were disproved, but the king divorced her and had her sent to a convent of the Selwer Mother-Goddess. Dirk--Adron--was kept in near total isolation for his entire life.”

“That sound kind of like me, only worse,” you say.

“Much worse. You were kept separate out of respect, and you were free to speak to anyone if you were so inclined. Adron was kept separate out of fear, and wasn’t allowed to make even the slightest of acquaintances.”

_Bro wouldn’t have cared about that. Dirk probably would have._ “If they were that afraid of him--”

“I wish Leijon had told me sooner,” Rose says, voice hard. “It was only through Her intervention that he survived at all. But if we’d been told sooner, I could have had John retrieve him.”

You are not used to someone speaking about the gods as if they were just anyone. “Why didn’t she?” You are also not used to speaking about the gods as if they were just anyone, but it was starting to become a habit. (Your sister is a very, very bad influence.)

“She won’t say, but part of the reason is that Torren and Selwer were just entering hostilities,” Rose says wryly. “And She’s worshipped as Aeda, goddess of the wildwood in Selwer. She didn’t let us know until after She as Leijon inspired General Anyata to ask for Adron as a hostage when the peace treaty was being settled.”

“Who knows that Adron is an Incarnation?” you ask.

“A very select few, including the Emperor and the High Council of Priests,” Rose says. She tells you more about what she knows about Adron, and about Selwer and its religion and its politics.

The Imperial Presentation is a three hour blur of speeches and invocations of the gods. It is also a kind of humility play. You and Rose enter the Hall of Accord, which is filled with courtiers. At the other end of the hall is the Imperial throne. Standing just before the dais is the emperor and empress. Both are dressed in plain gray, with no jewelry or adornments. They walk to meet you at the center of the Hall. Rose introduces you to Emperor Martius and his wife the Empress Adelia. The emperor bows and the empress curtseys and then the emperor launches into a speech of welcome that lists the deeds of your previous lifetimes. It also thanks the gods for various blessings, of which you are apparently one. You are extremely uncomfortable with this speech and your part in it, which is to thank him for his compliments and praise the gods on cue.

After you’re welcomed you have to stand with the Imperial Couple and Rose before the dais and listen to the courtiers make their own speeches. As you go to stand beside him, the emperor murmurs, “forgive me for the speech. If the emperor bows it must only be to the gods, and even his self-deprecation must raise him above his subjects.” His lips barely move when he speaks, and he otherwise appears to be paying attention to the current speech.

“The Seeress told me it would be like that,” you murmur back. “It didn’t bother me too much.”

“At the risk of being too forward, you looked like you wanted to sink through the floor, hence the apology,” the emperor says with the slightest of smiles.

Then there is a formal dinner. You are seated at the head of the table, with Rose at your left hand, and the Imperial Couple on your right. You manage to get all the silverware for each course correct and Rose gently cues you through the winding maze of small talk. The emperor and empress ask you questions about what you’re studying and what books you’re currently reading. They also ask about what you liked and disliked about living at the temple. You are only occasionally engaged in conversation by the courtiers further down the table, and Rose deftly rescues you from questions about politics or recent events.


	7. Meetings and Connections

It’s late when you get back to your suite and Berend wants to know everything that happened. You just want your head to stop spinning. (“This is just the beginning you realize,” the Emperor had said almost apologetically. “Expect to receive invitations from various persons after this.”) There seems little chance for compromise, but Berend seems to catch the fact that you are not really feeling well. “Did you drink too much wine?” he asks, somewhere between solicitous and mocking. 

“No, I did not drink too much wine,” you tell him, and flop onto the couch. “It was just really long and I had to concentrate on not embarrassing myself.” 

“That must have been very hard,” Berend says with a teasing smirk. You grab one of the pillows on the couch and throw it at him. He catches the pillow and tosses it onto the couch. “Do you need willow bark tea or something?” 

“No, just quiet,” you tell him pointedly. 

“Yes your lordship, of course your lordship,” Berend says mockingly, and absconds for the study. 

You lean your head against the back of the couch, and listen to the ticking of the clock on the mantel. Bits and pieces of conversation come back to you, questions from the emperor or empress, comments from further down the table. The combination of deference (much more than you were used to) and adult-talking-to-a-child (entirely familiar) in the way you had been treated. Rose said you hadn’t done too badly, and that all you really needed to do was relax. You fall asleep on the couch without really realizing it.

You dream of a laughing puppet. You dream of a girl you know is Jade and a boy you know is John dying and the feeling of failure that comes with their deaths. You dream of the knowledge that you could fix this, but being reluctant to leave your sister behind. (You don’t want to be the hero.) You dream of impaling yourself on the seppucrow sprite, and the not-pain of the sword through your middle. You dream of being empowered with knowledge of the Game. You dream of not being the Real Dave. (You dream of battle and a demon.) You dream of Jade growing vast as the battlefield you’re standing (floating) on grows smaller. 

You wake up with Berend shaking your shoulder and calling your name, then jumping back when you flail. “M’awake,” you say blinking up at him. You have a crick in your neck, and for a moment, you think you see someone standing just behind Berend, taller and with spiky horns like his, but no one is there when you look twice. 

“It looked like you were having a nightmare,” Berend says, giving you a concerned frown. 

“I was. Thanks,” you say. You wobble to your feet and go to your room. This time when you fall asleep, your dreams don’t trouble you. 

The next few days are quiet, and spent mostly in Rose’s company, spending time in the library or the chapel. She asks you about your dreams and memories, and shares her memories of your past lives. You learn about your powers, and the powers that are common to the four of you. Rose demonstrates flight, and teaches you how to contact the gods or another Incarnation. Some of the things she tells you, you already know about, but only from a book, not someone’s direct experience. There are things that you almost remember how to do, but nothing happens when you try. (Rose tells you to practice what you remember, that your powers will come to you eventually.) 

When you get the chance, you send a belated letter to your mother, letting her know what’s going on. You don’t go into too much detail, and focus mostly on telling her that you’re doing well, and staying with the Seeress. You’re a little surprised to get a letter back, written in your mother’s uneven, reversed-letter hand. Your mother was a reluctant letter writer at the best of times. The letter wanders a bit between her telling you how proud she is of you, a dream she had that involved you, a sea troll, and a house on stilts in the middle of the ocean, and the sewing and embroidery she’s done. She also admonishes you to be careful with your money.

Rose introduces you to a few of her friends. A few are members of the Court. A few are priests and magi. Her friends ask you questions about your interests, and tell you stories about Rose. They ask about what your plans are, and when you admit that you don’t have any they make suggestions. (Most of them involve working within the Court, or whatever department or bureau they happen to be a part of. Rose scolds them for attempting to recruit you when this happens.)

You have a dinner with the Emperor and Empress in the Imperial Apartments, and meet the Imperial Heiress and the two princes. Lethia, the Heiress, is almost nineteen. Darus, the older prince is your age and Mikal the younger is seven. (The younger prince asks you questions about your powers, occasionally repeating them, obviously excited by your presence. You try to answer the questions, though you have to wrestle with the impulse to lie inventively.)

Your brother is arriving within the week, and the Emperor wants to know what you know about him. “I’ve asked your sister, and she has directed me to you,” he asks after taking you aside to the sitting room balcony after dinner. The balcony overlooked a small, ornate garden with a wide pool in the middle. 

You glance back toward Rose, who is engaging the Empress, the Heiress, and the older prince in conversation. “There’s not a lot I can tell you about Adron, that she wouldn’t have already told you, Your Highness,” you say.

“She has told me of Adron, but she hasn’t told me of Dirk. She directed me to you, as the only one who could answer my questions.”

“Highness, there are some things I might not be able to answer,” you say after several seconds of silence. 

“Say nothing of which you were forbidden to say,” Emperor Martius says. “Especially if it’s in a cosmological context--that realm I will leave 

to the priests. Tell me of your brother, and what kind of man he was.”

You hesitate, not knowing what to say at first. “He was a hard man, Your Highness,” you say finally. “Determined and brave after his own fashion. He was a stern taskmaster, and not a man who was good with people.” 

The Emperor gives you a stern nod. “What of his sense of loyalty?”

This is easier to say, since you’re mostly speaking of Dirk, not your Bro. “I know that he was devoted to those he cared about. He would do anything for them.”

“That could describe any of the Four Heroes, Lord Strider,” Emperor Martius said. 

You remember Dirk telling you, so calmly, that he’d deliberately killed himself as part of his entry into the Game. “With Dirk it’s especially true,” you say. “He was devoted to his friends.” Though you knew his devotion could take strange turns, you weren’t willing to tell the Emperor that.

The Emperor nods again, and asks you more questions. The Emperor wants to know as much about Dirk and his personality and past as you are willing to tell him. (Without describing the strange worlds that existed before the world--the universe--had been created. It makes him visibly uncomfortable. You can sympathize.) You answer as much as you can without treading on ground that makes you feel uncomfortable, or might hurt Dirk’s reputation. (Or which would be just too confusing to talk about. And there is no way to explain Dirk in either of his iterations that wouldn’t be confusing.)

That night you dream of your brother, and you dream of Dirk. You dream of being allowed to play with your brother’s _turn tables_ and of roof top battles. You dream of those rare moments where you might possibly have won some approval. (You dream of being afraid.) You dream of red hot gears, machinery pumping out rivers of molten rock. (The sound of metal grinding and clanging against metal is deafening.) You dream of being a kind of playwright. You dream of making plans for someone you’ll never meet. (Is anything you’re planning going to be enough?) You dream of a war fought in secret and a war fought in the streets. You dream of a final battle. You dream of dying. 

You dream of Dirk telling you about his brother, his voice filled with the ghost of hero worship. He shows you a tattoo, and you don’t want to believe he did that to commemorate his iteration of you. Dream-you is horrified, curling up on the floor saying, “You didn’t, you didn’t really do that. Tell me it rubs off, oh my god.” 

“The tattoo is of deep personal significance,” he tells you, amused by your denial.

“It’s too much power, bro. Too much power,” you say. 

“Those movies were masterpieces,” Dirk says, his eyes smiling behind his shades.

The next morning you wake up still sleepy, with fragments of dream conversation still in your ears. To your dismay, you find that it is nine of the clock. Berend is gone for his two days of classwork at the temple, and according to the note she left you, Rose is going to be busy all day with meetings. There is nothing you absolutely have to do today, which is kind of nice. 

After a late breakfast and some exercise, you decide to go to the chapel, and practice some of the things you’ve learned from Rose. The chapel is a large, square room with a peaked ceiling and stained glass windows. Shrines to the twelve gods are set along three of the walls. In the center of the room were four short pews. You shut the chapel door (which was a request for privacy) and before you start anything, you walk from shrine to shrine, starting with Megido’s. At each of the shrines, you pause to bow, ring the bell and bow again before going to the next. 

You try to clear your head, but your head buzzes with random thoughts instead. You think about your most recent dream. You think about Dirk, and you think about Adron. (You were nervous about meeting him.) You think about the twelve gods, and how none of the statues actually looks like the faces you remember. You think about the first Dave. You think of how you were now beginning to think of your previous life memories as the lives of previous Daves. (It seems like you aren’t going to be overwhelmed or replaced after all. You’re beginning to believe Rose’s assurances, anyway.) You think about mythology and religion and how the first Dave had had no interest in religion except perhaps to mock it, and the way you had grown up in a temple. (You wonder what he’d think of the irony.) 

You end where you began, before Megido’s shrine. The goddess is depicted as a young human girl, smiling mysteriously, holding a ram’s skull in Her hands, with flowers at Her feet. You bow and ring the bell before sitting at the bench. You remember the lesson that Rose taught you, the way to contact the gods, and wonder if you dare try it. Rose made it sound like talking to someone you knew, and for her, maybe that was true, but for you the gods were...distant and removed from anything that had to do with you. And you didn’t know the other Incarnations at all, except for Rose. 

While you’re thinking about whether or not to attempt contact (and Who to contact) or try something else, you hear someone call your name. You stand up and turn toward the chapel doors, but no one is there. And you hear the voice--which doesn’t really seem to have a direction--again. “Who’s there?” you ask, still looking around for the speaker. 

**No one!** The voice says cheerfully. **I’m on a completely different continent!**

You do another turn, but of course, no one is there. “Who are you?” you ask.

**This is Jade Harley,** the voice says. **It didn’t seem like you were going to try contacting anyone yet so I thought I’d contact you!**

“You were watching me?” Was that something she did a lot of, just watching people? Was there a special reason she was watching you? “And how did you know that’s what I was going to try doing?” 

**Just for a little while! I was going to contact Rose, but she’s busy, so I decided to check on you. And I didn’t know you were going to do it just now, I meant that I knew you’d been taught how, but you hadn’t tried it yet, according to Rose.**

You don’t know how you feel about Rose updating anyone about you. (Who else did she talk to about you?) “I didn’t want to bother anyone,” you say, sitting back down. “And other things I tried, hadn’t really worked.”

**Some things take a lot of practice until you can get it to work,** Jade says. **And you won’t be bothering anyone! If someone’s busy or handling another conversation, they’ll tell you.**

“Just talk to them, like they were anyone?”

**I know it seems strange at first; it’s a big step to go from praying to or cursing the gods to talking to them! You’d think it would be easier since we knew them in our first life, before they were gods, but no, it’s the same “do we dare call upon the gods?” thing every time.** Her voice went mockingly ominous at “do we dare call upon the gods.” But yes, talk to them! Don’t be afraid, all the sages and prophets do it, and so should all the coolkids!

Something unfolds in the back of your mind, the echo of a memory; Jade talking to you cheerful and a little overwhelming. Utterly fearless. So happy and wanting you to be happy too. You remember how much you love Jade, and why. You want to tell her, _I remember you_ but you’re pretty sure that wouldn’t make the sense that it makes in your head. “I wasn’t sure who to contact,” you admit instead. “Even if I got over my sad lack of _cool_.”

**You can contact me! You can do that right now in fact, since you wanted to practice!**

With that, a feeling of connection or maybe presence that you hadn’t really noticed (until it was gone) fades. Even with permission, you hesitate a bit, but Megido’s enigmatic smile seems oddly encouraging. You take a deep breath, and then another, and begin to visualize a room of immeasurable dimensions. You concentrate on this image, the way Rose had taught you and then think about seeing someone at the other end of the room, and wanting to talk to them. You begin to imagine Jade, and she looks the way she did in your first life at first, then the way you know she looks now. (Jade is older than Rose and looks it, dark skinned with brilliantly green eyes, graying hair in millions of braids, a memory from your last life.) You concentrate on that image, and think, **“Jade, Jade Harley.”**

The feeling of connection is immediate. **Hi Dave! Sometimes it takes a while before you get an answer, but I was listening for you!**

“It worked! Damn that’s redundant, of course it worked I’m talking to you,” you say, a little embarrassed. “What did you want to talk to Rose about?”

**Me and John are looking for the others,** Jade replies. **I wanted to tell her how the search is going!**

“How is it going?” 

**It’s going! The world is a big place, and they might not even be born yet!**

You nod and ask questions, and Jade answers them for what turns out to be a couple hours before you both end the conversation. Before she goes, Jade extracts a promise from you to contact her or one of the gods again. You say you will, though you (still) aren’t quite sure of what you’d say to the gods by way of conversation. (“Anything you want to!” Jade tells you cheerfully.) She also tells you that she’s going to ask the gods to contact you, so you can practice. You agree to this as well, unable to find a reason why not when she’s projecting cheerful enthusiasm at you. 

From the chapel, you go to Rose’s library. You get out the maps and atlases and spend the afternoon reading travelogues of dubious quality concerning Shauhai, the continent where Jade was living. (More specifically, she was living in Ro, a kingdom along the southern coast of Shauhai, in the city of Eryx at the mouth of the great Sira River that wound its way from one end of the continent to nearly the other. She was a scholar and taught astronomy at a mage-school there.) You are pretty sure that humans in Shauhai do not lay eggs like trolls or have dog heads or feathers, as several of your travelogues insists. Rose left sarcastic little notes in the margins and you are reading them as much as you are reading the travelogues. 

In the early evening, Rose returns and you have dinner with her. She tells you about the meetings she had been attending, though not very much. (She only tells you that the meetings involved deciding on policies and forecasting possible future events. They are also confidential meetings, otherwise, she tells you, she’d tell you more.) You talk about Jade and your conversation with her, a little of how it made you feel and about the things you remembered during your conversation with her. This turns into a longer conversation about things you both remember about Jade. 

After dinner, Rose retreats to the chapel to speak with Jade, and you return to your suite to read. When you go to sleep, you dream of Jade. (You remember lifetimes.) You dream of lying half asleep with your head in the lap of a nubby horned troll, while that troll carefully combs your hair with his claws. You dream that the God of Blood and Bonds is talking to you. What he’s saying is very important but his voice is being drowned out by the grinding of vast stone gears. 


	8. Introducing the new friend

There’s a parade when Adron finally arrives in Torre-the-City. You don’t go to see the parade. You’re too busy getting ready for your second Imperial Court ceremony. Once Rose decides everything is perfect, you both take the carriage to the Imperial Palace. Then you’re in the Hall of Accord, waiting for the Selwer delegation to reach the Imperial Palace to present their credentials as an embassy (and also to deliver the treaty documents and entrust Adron into Imperial custody). 

You are used to long waits and ceremonies. You have no problem with standing for long periods of time. What you are not used to is standing on the dais to the imperial throne next to Rose, who is standing just to the right of the Emperor, a little apart from the other Imperial Advisors, and court officials. You are used to a more low-key sort of participation. In the chorus singing, in line with the other candle holders and bell ringers. You’re in full view here, and someone will see if you suddenly need to scratch your nose. Rose’s face is perfectly serene, but you strongly suspect she’s laughing at you. “Nervous?” she asks, her voice a barely-there murmur. Her lips don’t even seem to move.

“No, I’m totally fine. No nerves at all,” you murmur back. You are not nearly as good as she is at looking like you aren’t talking when you are. “What would I have to be nervous about?”

She smiles at you. “Your second Imperial ceremony, your first time _meeting your brother_.” She says the last few words in English. 

_“Shit you’ve got me; I’m all a flutter meeting my bro again for the first time,”_ you reply in the same language.

_“Aren’t you? You only had hours to get to know Dirk last time, and now you’ll have longer.”_

_“You’re just here for the Strider feelings jam, rarer than a unicorn sight unseen for millennia,”_ you snark under your breath.

_“Maybe I am, dear brother, maybe I am,”_ Rose replies.

Bells ring, indicating that the procession has reached the palace. From there it’s a relatively short wait for the delegation to appear in the Hall of Accord. The Selweren delegates pause at the door, and are announced by a herald. The delegates are all of a type, all tall and broad shouldered, dressed in dark red, their hair back in a long braid. The envoy is introduced as Awain mic Allister. He’s a middle-aged man with steel-gray hair. He’s accompanied his secretary, Brion mic Herron and his son Dalen mic Allister. The delegation is surrounded by their own body guards, which in turn are surrounded by Imperial soldiers. 

You almost miss Adron, a slight white-haired figure in dark red surrounded by men much taller than he is. His hair is short and spiky, but not in a deliberate style; it looks like he took a knife to it at some point. Adron looks nothing like the Dirk in your memory; somehow, you almost expected him to. He’s short and skinny, but without the starveling whipcord muscle mass Dirk had. His features are square and blunt, and his ears stick out a bit. For some reason, he reminds you of a stray cat entering unfamiliar territory, all wary caution and a readiness to take off running at the least sign of danger. He’s pulled to the fore of the group by Awain, who whispers something urgently in the boy’s ear. The kid murmurs something back that Awain is deeply unhappy with just before his expression turns carefully, diplomatically neutral.

A second herald bids them to approach the throne, and the delegation walks forward, preceded by the Imperial soldiers, with Adron in front of the envoy. The envoy bows, and Emperor Martius says, “We welcome the envoy of King Garris to Our Court. You may present your credentials.”

The envoy bows again, and hands over his credentials. The Emperor opens the scroll case and reads the documents, then hands them to a servant who steps up from the side. “We recognize you as an Ambassador of King Garris of Selwer, Lord Awain. You will be appointed an embassy within the Old City near Maryam Park.” He indicates one of his courtiers. “Lord Arifax will guide you to the building.”

“Thank you, Your Imperial Majesty,” Lord Awain says. “Allow me to present the treaty between Selwer and the Torren Empire.” Then he hands over the scroll case for the treaty, which Emperor Martius hands over to the herald, who begins to read pertinent details from the treaty.

Meanwhile, members of the delegation are taking notice of Rose and your white hair and strange eyes. They aren’t being gauche enough to whisper and point, but they are definitely taking note, their eyes flicking from Adron to you and Rose. You see little flicking gestures that are almost certainly intended to fend off the evil eye. You try very hard not to smirk or anything. Adron notices you, and the quick widening of his orange eyes makes your heart skip a beat. It’s not recognition, dumbass, it’s surprise. You tell yourself. He’s never seen anyone who has weird eyes like his before. Your heart doesn’t care though. You want to talk to him, and at the same time, you are struck by a serious case of bashfulness. 

The Emperor greets Prince Adron mic Allister and welcomes him to Torre. The kid bows and returns the greeting after a slight pause. His Torren is not very good at all. You think he might just be answering on cue. (He’s still glancing your way.) Then the Emperor assigns Rose as Adron’s guardian. (This appears to unnerve Lord Awain and his entourage.) Rose curtseys gracefully and steps down the dais to take the kid into custody. Lord Awain steps back from Rose as she approaches with a flicker of alarm, then flushes. 

Rose speaks softly to the kid and gently indicates Adron follow her back up the dais. The kid obeys stiffly. When she reaches you, she says, “Your highness, this is my brother Dave Strider, Hero of Time. He is also staying at my home.”

You give Adron a bow. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, your highness.” Adron returns your bow with a wary nod. 

There are speeches about the ending of the war between Torre and Selwer. At the end of the speeches, the Emperor invites Lord Awain to a dinner two nights from now in celebration of the treaty. The Selweren Ambassador bows and takes his entourage out of the Hall of Accord. This is followed by a general dismissal of the court, with the Emperor exiting the Hall, and the courtiers drifting away in groups.

“How was your journey to the City, your highness?” Rose asks once all of Adron’s belongings are loaded on the carriage and you’re on your way back to the mansion. 

Adron, who had been looking out the small carriage window, looked to Rose. “Long,” he says. “Storms at sea, many days in cabin.” His Torren is pretty bad, but not as bad as you first thought.

“Were you seasick?” Rose asks.

“No. Was glad to be on land though.”

“How was the trip overland?”

“Much better,” Adron says. “We saw hills and forests and river. Troll towns and human towns. People waved. Was very nice.” He sounds a little surprised by that. “So much all spread out, pretty country.”

Rose smiles. “It sounds like it. What else did you see?”

“Farms mostly, sheep, cows, horses. We stay at estate one night. Lord hunter. Visited kennel and mews.”

“Do you enjoy hunting?” 

Adron nods. “Yes.” He looks unhappy, probably guessing he won’t be having much opportunity for hunting in the future.

“What did you think of the City?” Rose asks.

“Big. Bigger than Dhuganan.” That was the capital city of Selwer. He frowns. “Cleaner. Do you use magic to clean?”

“Just sewers and street sweepers,” Rose says with a smile. “No magic.”

“There are places to see, in City,” Adron says, almost shyly. “What is permitted and not permitted of movement?

“You would need an escort, if you were going out into the City, your highness,” Rose says, and looks at you. “Possibly my brother could take you, if he were willing.”

“I’d be willing to,” you say. “It wouldn’t be a problem.” 

“It would not interfere with duties?” Adron asks uncertainly.

“I don’t have any duties, your highness,” You tell him. “So it’s not a problem.”

Adron nods. “Thank you Lord Strider--is that correct address?”

Rose says “yes,” at the same time as you say, “most people call me Dave.” You give each other mutually exasperated looks. “The correct address would be ‘Lord,’ but Dave is used to being addressed with ‘Master Strider,’ or as he says, just by his name,” Rose says after she wins the staring contest. 

Adron looks interested by this interplay between the two of you. “Why ‘Master’ instead of ‘Lord’?” he asks.

“That was how my tutors addressed me when I was an acolyte of Megido your highness. I’m more used to it than the other honorific.”

“What is Megido god of?” Adron asks curiously. 

“Megido is the Lady of Time, of history and the passage of the seasons,” you tell him, without explaining that Megido is not exactly your god. (Even if at one point, you wanted to be one of Her priests.) 

“And you are Her ‘Hero?’”

That makes you laugh. “No. I’m not Her hero. That’s not how it works, your highness.” 

“Lord Strider does not have a formal affiliation with Megido’s Order,” Rose says. “He was raised by them when he was discovered by them as a child.” 

“How was he discovered?” Adron says. Then he glances toward you and looks embarrassed for a moment. “Pardon. How were you discovered?” he asks. 

“Seers found out I had been reborn in Torre,” you say. “And Seekers from Megido’s Order were chosen to find me. It took them a few years, but they eventually found me in the City. I was five when I was taken to the main temple of Megido.”

Adron frowns thoughtfully at you, and you wonder what he’d been told about Heroes. “What is training for Heroes like?”

“There isn’t any training for Heroes,” you tell him. “I was just given ordinary lessons, like Mathematics and Rhetoric.” 

“No teaching in _witchcraft_?” Adron asks. The last word you think is Selweren.

_“Your highness, we are not witches,”_ Rose says in a language you are pretty sure is Selweren. Despite not knowing the language, you find you can understand the gist of what she’s saying. _“We have powers far beyond those of any witch, and the experience of many lifetimes in which to use them. What we learned of our powers, was learned long ago and need only be remembered and practiced.”_

_“And these powers do not come from evil spirits?” _Adron asks.__

_“They do not, your highness; though I confess I am not sure how to prove that to someone inclined to believe that they do.”_

_“I would believe if you swore by Aeda that they did not,”_ Adron says solemnly.

_“Then your highness I swear by Aeda of the wildwood, Who divides the spirits between dark and light, Goddess of magic and things between that neither my powers nor those of any Hero comes from alliance with spirits.”_

Adron looks surprised, and a little embarrassed. _“I should not have requested an oath from you, Lady,”_ he says. _“Or asked so many questions of you.”_

“I am not offended, your highness,” Rose says, this time in Torren. “You may ask either of us questions.”

“Thank you, Lady Lalonde,” Adron says. “Lord Strider.” 

The conversation is cut short when you arrive at the mansion. Adron is swept away to his suite by servants carrying his luggage into the mansion. You fall back to walk with Rose. _“Are you really bothered by ‘Lord’?”_ she asks in English.

_“Maybe a little,”_ you admit in the same language. _“I am not ready for my natural greatness to be recognized so blatantly.”_ Then remembering the conversation from earlier you say in Torren, “I understood what you were saying when you were speaking Selweren. You were speaking Selweren, right?”

Rose nods. “Do you think you might be able to speak it, if you heard it again?” She asks in Selweren.

_“Yes.”_ Saying the word is surprisingly hard. Your mouth doesn’t quite know what it’s doing and you sound weird. _“This is really strange,”_ you continue. You can tell you aren’t making the right sounds, and that’s kind of fascinating. 

“You’ll find that the more you hear it, the more you’ll ‘remember,’” Rose says. “And over time, it takes fewer and fewer words to know the language.”

You nod, relieved that there isn’t going to be much of a language barrier. “I’m going to go see if he needs any help,” you say. 

“That would be kind of you,” Rose says. “I’ll be in the chapel, should you need me.” 

You nod, and head up the stairs. Adron’s suite is next to yours, and you’re struck by a sense of deep bashfulness when you reach his door. What are you going to talk about? Is he even going to appreciate your offering to help? Maybe he needs to be alone for a while after the parade and the hours-long ceremony. You almost duck into your own suite, but some inner voice from some much braver Dave goes nah, and you knock on Adron’s door. After an agonizing minute, Adron answers your knock. “I was wondering if you needed any help,” you say. “When I came here, the servants just sort of left everything for me to put away by myself, and I thought you might not be used to that kind of treatment, if they did that to you so this is me asking if you need any help.” You’re babbling. Adron is going to think you’re the Hero of babbling idiots. If he can even understand your fast-paced Torren. 

Adron gives you a bemused look and opens the door wider. “Yes, I would like help,” he says. 

The layout of Adron’s suite is the twin of yours, the only differences being the colors and the decorations. Your suite has mostly blue furniture and accents, Adron’s suite has dark rose. The paintings are mostly landscapes, and he has a large ancestor clock in one corner. You feel vaguely jealous about this. It even tells the days of the week and moon phases. (You are snooping and should be embarrassed except you’re not really embarrassed at all.) 

The prince has a lot more luggage than you do, which is not at all surprising. You help him unpack his things; he finds places to put them. It’s mostly clothes and books, though there’s also a writing case and a jewelry case. You try out your Selweren, and ask him the occasional question about the books he brought. The kid has travelogues and bestiaries, wonder-tales and poetry. You find that you can’t read the Selweren writing as well as you understand the spoken language. It takes a while for the curves and angles to become letters, words and sentences. Some of the titles are Selweren translations of Torren or Aldyan books you recognize, but most of them are Selweren and completely unfamiliar. 

“You can look through them, if you want,” Adron offers when he catches you taking a peek at the illumination of one of the bestiaries. 

You twitch guiltily, and set down the book. “Maybe later,” you say. “Thank you.” 

Once everything is put away to Adron’s satisfaction, you show him around the mansion. Berend joins you for this, and it’s interesting to watch Adron’s reaction to the troll. Selwer has no native trollish population, and the only interaction the Selwerens had with trolls aside from the occasional (very brave) merchant were the Terlings, who were not the best of neighbors. Adron is relatively polite to Berend, but keeps watching him as if he expects Berend to go on a rampage at any moment. Berend is irritated by this, but manages to be polite in return. You manage to keep them from mortally offending each other. 

When you finally get to sleep, you dream that you are stalking through moonlit forests. The trees are tall, blocking all but the occasional stray ray that makes it to the ground. (Despite that, you can see perfectly, your eyes adapted to the forest gloom.) The forest is quiet and still, except for the occasional bird call or the distant cry of challenge from some forest beast. 

During your patrol, you see signs that another has entered your territory! The paw prints are huge, and the interloper has left markings-- huge rents in a nearby tree, and scat. Outraged, you incautiously follow the trail which crosses over a stream and then uphill, determined to teach the intruder a lesson in manners. 

The trail leads them to a clearing, one with an outcrop of boulders left by a glacier millennia ago. Perched on top of the tallest boulder is ~~a girl~~ a great white cat. You snarl a challenge, but the great cat is plainly unimpressed! She descends lightly from the boulder, and leaps toward you. You dodge back, and then lunge. The great cat rises up and descends on you, and you both go rolling across the clearing with great growls, bites and rabbit kicks. 

The great cat pins you, then you are just Dave, and the great cat is a small troll girl with green eyes. She still has you pinned though, and she’s fiercely strong. “The great cat says that she has won this fight but has no interest in Dave’s territory! She just wants to talk!”

“Dave says that the great cat could have just talked,” you say in reply. The troll girl backs off of you, and you sit up.

“This was more fun!” The troll girl sits across from you, smiling. 

“Would have liked more warning,” you say, your smile echoing hers. “What did you want to talk about, Lady?” For some reason, calling her “Lady,” feels more like playacting than what you had just participated in. You know her so well honorifics are meaningless. Rose speaks of her as Leijon, who is worshipped as Aeda in Selwer, but you see her as Nepeta Leijon, someone who is closer in some ways than a friend, because you were both Davepetasprite. 

“Aeda is fond of her prince, whom she saved when he was a baby,” Nepeta says, looking down at her hands. “She worries about him, and the return of his memories.”

“We’ll take care of him,” you start to promise, but she shakes her head.

“I remember your lusus Dave, and he will have your lusus’ memories. Will you be able to deal with your lusus?”

You had never been able to confront your Bro in your first life. Dirk apologizing and feeling responsible for one of his “splinters” wasn’t the same. Couldn’t be the same. Would you be able to deal with your Bro? Would the anger come back, and taint how you dealt with Adron? “Yes, I can deal with my lusus,” you say.

“Are you sure?” Nepeta asks. 

You nod. “I’m more worried about Adron having my Bro’s memories, than how I’m going to react to his having my Bro’s memories.”

“Nepeta agrees. Dave’s lusus was terrible. Dave should have had a fierce jungle cat to be his lusus!”

“Dave thinks it should have been a giant raven.”

“Cats are the best lusii,” Nepeta says, then turns more serious. “I’m worried too, about Adron remembering Bro.” She pauses. “Do you remember the first time, the very first time you woke up in this universe?”

“I think I could,” you say with a frown. “It would take a lot searching. Why?”

“You mostly remembered being the first Dave,” she says. “You remembered being the first Dave, almost more than you remembered being the person you were before you remembered.”

You get a cold feeling at that. “Before I started remembering, when I was first told, I thought I was going disappear. Are you saying that’s what happened, the first time?

Nepeta nods. “It was temporary! But it happened because that was your entry point into the universe, that’s what Karkat thinks, and I agree. That might happen with Adron.”

“But it’s just temporary, right?” you ask.

“It was temporary, but I still worry. What if it works differently? What if it’s Bro, instead of Dirk?”

“Do you think it might be Bro who turns up, and not Dirk?” you ask. Nepeta had been talking more in terms of Bro than Dirk.

“I don’t know,” Nepeta says. “We never expected this to happen at all. It could be your Guardian, it could be Dirk that he remembers more.” Her shoulders hunch and she looks almost like she’s going to cry. “And I don’t want Adron to disappear.”

You want to reassure her, but you aren’t sure how to go about it when you’re worried now yourself. “We’ll handle it when it comes up,” you say. “I can promise to try not to let whatever anger I might still have affect me if it’s Bro.”

“Take care of Adron,” she says. “Aeda wants a Hero of Heart, if Leijon doesn’t steal him instead.” Then she hugs you. 

You hug her back. “We’ll do our best.”


	9. Aeda’s Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaed by [Madame Hardy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameHardy/pseuds/MadameHardy)

You wake from the dream, half-expecting Nepeta to be beside you. You’re alone though, and it’s still dark, the only sound being the soft ticking of the clock in the sitting room. You lie flat on your back, staring blankly up at the canopy of your bed. Details from the dream haunt you, the sounds of the forest, the feeling of the ground beneath your paws as much as the conversation. Nepeta had presented you with a number of things you hadn’t really thought to worry about, plainly worried about them Herself. She had entrusted you with the care of Adron, letting you know that She felt particularly close to him. _“Aeda wants a Hero of Heart, if Leijon doesn’t steal him instead.”_

It was possibly too late or too early to wonder what Nepeta had meant by that, but you speculate anyway. Leijon was the Lady of the Quadrants and the Heart, who hunted betrayers and the false. Aeda was the goddess of the wildwood and magic, who “divided spirits between dark and light,” whatever that might really mean. You wondered if Nepeta was literally going to court him as either goddess, or if She meant that She wanted Adron to choose between Torren and Selweren religions, and if either, why. 

The clock in the sitting room chimes four o’clock, and you know you aren’t going to be getting any further sleep. You dress in the dark, and wander into the sitting room, where you light the lamps and grab your most recent book, a travelogue of the Red Road, the main trading route between the continents of Lannis and Aengen, and start reading. Rose’s marginal notes are much less sarcastic with this book, so it’s probably more accurate. You hear Berend stirring around half past five, and get up to order breakfast. “Is it too early for princes?” You ask the maid--it’s Jenna, who’s usually the upstairs maid at this time--when she arrives.

“Sir?” she asks, looking a little befuddled, but then she gets it. “You wish to invite his highness to breakfast, Master Strider?”

“Yes,” you say. “Would it be too early for him? I know Rose sleeps late and she’s the closest to nobility that I know.”

Jenna smiles at you. “It might be, but I could ask him if he’d like to join you for breakfast, sir.” 

“That sounds good. Thank you Jenna. I think we’d like flatcakes, sausage, and stirred eggs, toast and tea.” 

“You’re welcome sir,” Jenna says, and absconds to wake the prince. 

When Berend emerges from his room, you tell him about your potential breakfast guest. He nods, and starts picking up his textbooks, which had been left on the couch. Then he frowns at you. “Are you going to wear that? You wore it the other day.”

“You are not my valet,” you say. “And it’s just a little wrinkled.” You were not feeling defensive. Your clothes looked fine. You didn’t have anywhere you needed to be, and you didn’t need to dress up. (Except you probably should, a guilty voice murmured. You ignored it.) 

“You couldn’t pay me to be your valet,” Berend says, and carries his textbooks into his room. When he comes back out, he starts straightening the sitting room. “I’m just suggesting you should try to look a little more presentable since that would be polite.”

“And what if his highness comes here and he’s in clothes that have been living in a trunk for weeks and the wrinkles have wrinkles because he hasn’t had a chance to ask a servant to iron them. He’d be dead of embarrassment to see me in my fine attire, not a stitch out of place and smelling of lavender. We can’t let something like that happen, it would cause all kinds of trouble for the treaty if our hostage died of embarrassment. Obviously the solution is to be on equal footing and wear clothes that were worn the day before and just a little wrinkled.”

Berend rolls his eyes at you. “I’m sure his highness wouldn’t be offended if you wore clean clothes.”

“Nah, can’t risk it,” you say. “I ordered flatcakes for breakfast again. They’re a lot better than the ones at the temple. Maybe we could get the recipe from the cook and thereby save our fellow acolytes from terrible flatcakes.” 

“Strider,” Berend says impatiently. 

“What, you don’t think she’ll give us the recipe?”

“Is there a reason you don’t want to look presentable?” Berend asks. 

“I already told you why,” you say. “Be unconscionable to embarrass his highness.”

“A reason that isn’t ridiculous.”

“Maybe I don’t actually want to talk about it,” you say flatly. “Maybe I don’t want to have to fuss about my wardrobe.” 

Berend gives you a look that’s midway between exasperated and concerned. He looks like he wants to argue, but he sighs instead. “Fine. Don’t change your clothes then.”

“I knew you’d come around to my point of view,” you tell him solemnly. 

Adron arrives when the breakfast does, hovering in the doorway until the servants have set up the breakfast dishes, and left. He’s wearing black trousers and jerkin, with black half boots. The jerkin is undone, and you can see he’s wearing a white shirt with mother-of-pearl buttons underneath. Wrinkled. Adron gives you a polite nod. “Lord Strider, Brother Berend. Good morning.” After a slight hesitation, he sits down on one of the chairs adjacent to the couch. Seeing the two of you make your own plates, he does the same. 

“Did you sleep well, your highness?” you ask before taking a bite of your flatcake. 

Adron nods. “Yes. Real bed after much traveling very good.” He adds jam to his flatcakes, and butter to his toast before eating. “Did you?”

“Yes.” You pause a bit before saying, “still getting used to living here.” Berend hums a general agreement, as he eats his breakfast. 

Adron gives you an unreadable look. “Do you miss temple?”

“I do. The temple was my home and I had work I was trusted to do,” you say. You missed your teachers and the routine and how busy you were. 

“What did you do?” 

“Delivered messages and documents, repaired books,” you tell him. 

“Ordinary duties for ‘Hero,’” Adron says, a little surprised. 

You wonder what Adron expected, but don’t ask. Possibly, he expected something more magical, or mystical, depending on what he’d already heard about Heroes. “Nah, only the best students were allowed to go on errands outside the temple, your highness.”

“No duties now?”

“Not right now, no. I’ve been helping Berend with his studies. I could help you with your Torren,” you offer.

Adron pokes at the contents of his plate. “Learn on my own, this much,” he says. “But maybe help.” 

“You taught yourself Torren?”

“Taught little, learn coming to Torre,” Adron said with a shrug. “Nothing else to do.”

His Torren was pretty good, for what had to have been only a few months of study. You wondered if it was a sign that his powers were activating. You ask him questions about other subjects he’s studied, and his interests. He mostly talks about horses and swordsmanship. He seems surprised that you learned the sword as well; apparently, priests in Selwer were expected to be noncombatants. Berend joins in on the conversation because of the horses and stays for the discussion about whether or not priests should be combatants.

“I have not seen outside, would you walk with me, Lord Strider?” Adron asks after breakfast. Berend had absconded for the library with his textbooks, leaving you alone with the prince. 

“Of course, your highness,” you say, and call servants to come clean up the breakfast dishes. 

The garden that wraps around most of the mansion is meant to look like a forest with a bark path winding its way through the bushes trees and flowers. There are occasional groupings of boulders, and a tiny meadow for picnics. (You and Berend had been using it spar, so the grass of the “meadow” was a little scuffed in places much to the aggravation of the head gardener.) There are benches along the path, and you sit on one, after showing him the garden. 

The prince hadn’t said much during the walk, though you had a feeling he wanted to. He kept giving you odd little glances, wary and curious at once. You hadn’t called him on it, figuring if he wanted to talk, he’d get around to telling you. After a moment of standing awkwardly, he joins you on the bench, sitting on the opposite end. “I have question,” he says after a few moments of studying the flowers in their bed along the other side of the path. 

“What about?” you ask.

“What...what is difference, between ‘hero’ and ‘witch’?” Adron asks.

“Witches are magi,” you say. “Is that right?” You knew the word “witch” implied other, mostly negative things, but it was roughly equivalent to “magus.” 

Adron nods, and flicks you an odd, wary look. “Yes,” he says, and then, “we of Selwer call Torren witchfolk.”

“Not all Torren are magi though,” you say mildly. “We do make more use of magic than other lands though.” 

The kid gives you a look that says _“...and that’s why we call you witchfolk.”_

“Anyway, heroes are not magi. There’s fewer of us, and we’re more powerful.” This is pretty safe to say. You are sure the kid is not ready for, _“we came before the universe and helped to create it,”_ just yet. It would probably conflict with whatever the Selweren believed about the creation of the world. 

“Powerful how?” Adron asks.

“Well, heroes in general can live a really long time, longer than any human or troll. We are very hard to kill or even harm, and when we do die, we’re reborn somewhere else.” 

“You are ‘reborn’?” Adron asks with a skeptical frown. “Do you remember?”

You nod. “I’ve been remembering for a while now.”

“How else more powerful?”

“We can use our powers for a lot longer than a magus, and do things magi can’t do.” You think about an example. “Three of us, working together, took apart the Imperial Palace, without harming anyone inside it. Later, we built a new palace, in a different location. That was mostly Jade, but she needed me to turn the rubble of the old palace back into building materials, and Rose to find the best spot and ensure nothing went wrong.”

Adron looks even more skeptical. “Not sure if I believe that,” he says.

“I can take you down to where the old palace was,” you tell him. 

“Not sure if proof,” Adron says. “Could be anything. Like a fake holy relic.” He gives you a challenging look. 

You shrug. “We could still go, if you wanted.”

“Maybe,” he says. “Still not sure of difference between witch and hero,” he continues after a pause. “You have troll-eyes, like me,” he says with some hesitation. His shoulders are hunched, and his gaze is averted. 

“Troll-eyes, your highness?”

“Sign of being witch,” Adron says in a low voice. “Strange eyes. Or birthmark, or other strangeness. All signs of being witch.” 

“That’s why you were asking about heroes and witches, because you think you’re a witch?”

“I am a witch,” Adron says. “Never used magic, but I am a witch.” Then he switches to Selweren, saying, _“Your troll-general insisted I come to Torre as a hostage, and no one knew why except that I was a witch, that’s what was said, anyway.”_

You have no idea of what to say to this. He wasn’t here because he was a witch, he was here because he was your brother, but you were pretty sure you weren’t supposed to tell him that at this point. _“What did you think we’d do, because you were a witch?”_ You ask him in the same language.

Adron gives you a wary, defiant look. _“I didn’t want to find out, so I dedicated myself to Aeda.”_ His hand reaches up, almost unconsciously, to his scraggly chopped off hair. _“The king was furious. Only women dedicate themselves to Aeda. Men don’t. I thought it would still work though, so I did.”_ He sounds proud of what he did, but also a little uneasy.

“That was pretty brave of you, to risk the king’s anger like that,” you say. The kid must have been terrified last night, being put in the care of “witches.” But he hadn’t let any of it show. You’re not at all sure of what else to say, here, that might reassure him, especially when you have an idea of what he might be in for, when he started remembering. “What’s so bad about being a witch?”

“Magic dangerous, too easily turned to wickedness,” Adron says. “Only priestesses of Aeda use. Men never.” 

“But you dedicated yourself to Aeda, even though men don’t?” 

Adron nods. _“The goddess spoke for me through one of Her priestesses when I was born. If I were a girl, I would have gone to the forest altars and become a priestess. So I thought She’d accept my dedication, and I wouldn’t have to worry about being exposed to witchcraft,”_ he says in Selweren.

“No one is going to make you have anything to do with magic, if you don’t want to, your highness,” you say.

Adron shakes his head. “No. Was curious. Shouldn’t be, but I am. I want to understand. I want to learn about magic.”

You realize that you might have gotten things a little backward. Adron was worried about witchcraft, yeah, but he wasn’t afraid of being corrupted by it. Not necessarily. He had just taken sensible precautions because he wanted to learn more about it. (Dirk wouldn’t let something like gender stop him from learning something he wanted to learn.) “You should talk to Rose--lady Lalonde,” you say. “She knows more about magic than I do, if you’re curious.” 

Adron nods. “I will.” 

Adron asks more questions about heroes, asking you about your past lives, and the story behind the destruction and rebuilding of the Imperial Palace. You tell him about Torre’s invasion of Aldya, and how John had held them back until he’d been captured by Torren forces. John had been taken to Torre, and had been tortured to death. The three of you had been either too young or too far away to do anything about it. It had taken years before you’d been finally able to come together to punish the Torren for what they’d done to John, and what they were doing to Aldya. Adron is impressed but skeptical, questioning you closely.

"Aldya still part of Torre though," Adron says. "Why not drive them out?"

"Even with some of the things Torre had done in Aldya, not all the Aldyans wanted Torre gone," you say. "Torre was beginning to adopt Aldyan ideas, and Aldyans were beginning to adopt Torren ideas, and there was no way we'd be able to separate them by the time we got together."

"You could have," Adron insists. "If you are as powerful as you say."

"Not without destroying both countries, and doing worse things than what happened to John," you say. "We still might have risked it, but Rose felt that path did more harm than good."


	10. Arguments and Revelations

After talking to Adron some more, you leave him to his own devices when he mentions that he wants to finish organizing his rooms and wardrobe. He thanks you for the conversation, and tentatively suggests meeting later for the first language lesson. You tell him you’ll probably be in the library. 

It is just about the time that Rose usually gets up in the morning. You don’t think you told Adron more than you should have. (He kept asking questions, and you kept answering them, with very little self-editing involved.) You don’t think you frightened him. (Entirely possible, even if the kid said he wanted to learn, and didn’t _seem_ frightened.) But you still wanted to talk to Rose. (Just to see if there was some schedule of revelations you were supposed to follow, and if you screwed it up somehow.) 

Rose’s lady’s maid, a tall troll with brown eyes and curled horns named Serril answers the door to Rose’s quarters when you knock. “The Seeress is having her breakfast, she’s expecting you, my lord,” the maid says, and steps aside to usher you into the sitting room. (You have no idea if you should be relieved or apprehensive that she’s expecting you.)

Rose is seated in a comfortably shabby armchair, having egg toast and sausages for breakfast. She’s wearing a light blue dress with panels of black and darker blue embroidery at the neck and hem of the skirt. Her hair is braided with ribbons that match the dress. “Serril, I’d like to speak to my brother alone,” she says to her lady’s maid. The maid nods and absconds with a curtsy.

“Would you like to have some tea, Dave?” Rose asks. “Some toast?” 

You settle into the couch adjacent to the chair. “No thank you,” you say. You fidget a little, not sure of what to say, before settling on, “I invited Adron to breakfast. He had a lot of questions about Heroes.”

“And you answered them, I presume?”

You nod. “Should I have? I avoided things that might interfere too much with his beliefs. Not that I know much about his beliefs.”

Rose gives you a slight smile. “The first Dave wouldn’t have been concerned about interfering with his beliefs.”

You shrug. “I don’t think he believed most of what I was saying anyway.”

“What did you tell him?” Rose asks.

You give her an overview of what you and Adron talked about, both during breakfast and while in the garden. “I tried to keep things pretty simple, and like I said, I tried not to say anything that might interfere with his beliefs. I told him about our powers and a little of our past lives. He asked questions about the time we moved the Imperial Palace.” 

Rose nods. “But you didn’t tell him anything about the previous universe or the Game?” She pauses. “Or about Dirk?”

“I figured you wouldn’t want me to tell him anything about Dirk yet,” you say. “And I knew it wouldn’t be a good idea to talk about the Game.” Not talking about the Game was a given. No one talked about the Game to people who didn’t already know about the Game. It wasn’t part of any mythoi and it wasn’t going to be. It was an unspoken rule. “Did I do the right thing, telling him as much as I did?”

“From what you’ve told me, yes, you did fine,” Rose says. “Not answering would have done considerable harm, I think. I am a little surprised that he’s being so forward. I thought he’d be more reticent.”

“I’m kind of surprised too,” you admit. “I underestimated him, which was kind of dumb in retrospect. I thought he was asking questions about magic because he was afraid, but what he wants to do is learn,” you say. “He’s a brave little kid.” 

“Dave, you aren’t much older than he is,” Rose says, her mouth tilted in an amused smile.

You shrug, feeling your ears heat a little. You want to protest that you are older, but you know that Rose would just tease you about it. You’re fifteen, you’re still a kid yourself, so on and so forth. “It’s true though,” you say when you can get over your moment of defensiveness, then, “I uh, volunteered your services for learning about magic.” 

“I don’t mind being volunteered, and I doubt I’ll mind instructing his highness,” she says. 

“When do we talk to him about Dirk?” you ask after a moment of silence. 

“We’ll give it a few days,” Rose says. “I feel it should be soon, but want to give him a few days to settle into a routine.”

You don’t tell her about your dream with Nepeta, though you’re pretty sure that Rose would have sensed something. The conversation was between you and Nepeta, and you don’t feel the need to share. You do express some worry about Adron having your Bro’s memories, and ask her questions about the first time she woke up in this universe. This leads to a discussion about memories and personality that leaves you pretty disturbed. (You aren’t being subsumed, but how much of your actions now are being based off information you’re remembering now? And how does that past information change who you are?) 

After your meeting with Rose, you go down to the library. The rest of the day is quiet, with you helping Berend with his homework and giving Adron a lesson in Torren. (The lesson mostly consists of expanding Adron’s vocabulary and writing simple sentences.) Rose joins the three of you for lunch and weapon’s practice in the garden afterward. She uses a paired sword style that is very daunting, and runs the three of you ragged. Then she critiques all of you, which is almost worse than the sparring session.

That night your conversation with Nepeta comes back to you, and your conversation with Rose. You think about Nepeta talking about your “entry point” into this universe, Rose talking about personality and memory. It’s enough to keep you awake, even though you’re pretty tired. You think about that first time, about waking up in a completely different body, not just another iteration of you, but also a different you. Of being in the new universe, in a new body that had its own experiences and memories that weren’t quite you.

You dream of that “entry point” life, when you finally fall asleep. You dream of forests, mountains and caves. You dream of a woman who reminds you of, but isn’t Jade. You dream of people who know you, but you have to relearn who they are. (You have to relearn who you are.) You dream of friends and family who are not your Bro, who are not the friends of your first life. (You dream of missing your friends. You dream of not being able to find them.)

In the morning, you wake up with Berend knocking at your door, having overslept by a couple hours. You are not happy about this, and pull on the clothes you wore yesterday. Berend is not happy about this and gives you an exasperated look when you finally emerge. “Are you going to wear that again?” he asks.

“Yes. I think I am,” you say, and sit on the couch. “What did you order for breakfast?” 

“Porridge with ham and almond cakes,” Berend says. “What’s your excuse for wearing them again _this_ time?” 

“My excuse is that you’re still not my valet,” you tell him. “I’m going to be changing into my court clothes this afternoon anyway.”

Berend frowns at you. “Strider, I’m not your moirail but--”

“Yes, that is definitely a thing you’re not,” you interrupt. “Not my valet, not my moirail and what I wear is not your business.”

Berend tilts his horns defensively at your tone. “No, but I can see there’s a problem,” he says stubbornly. “And it _is_ my business.”

Just like that, you’re on your feet again. “Like hell it is.”

Berend stands his ground. “I’m supposed to be helping you,” he says. “And I’m the last person you want to confide in, _but I can see there’s a problem_.” 

“What, just because I don’t want to bother with changing into clothes I’m just going to change out of?”

“Yes, that exactly!” Berend says, hands thrusting to the sides in an angry gesture. “Because you’re not happy about your wardrobe! Or maybe because you’re not happy because you miss the temple! Maybe that!”

You flinch a little, because it’s true. “If I do, it’s not any of your business.” 

“Yes, actually it is, because I’m supposed to be _helping_ you.”

“How exactly are you helping me?” You ask angrily. “Because I don’t see it.” You had been trying to get along with him, pretending you didn’t care he was here instead of one of your friends, that he was here because Megido wanted him here instead of because you did, and you wanted to know why. (Why he was here, why your friends said they couldn’t come with you. Besides because you were the Hero of Time.)

“I’m supposed to be learning about the New Heroes, and to help you find them,” Berend says. 

“Learning about the New Heroes,” you repeat flatly. “Spying. Again.” 

“It’s to help you,” Berend protests. “And the other Heroes. The more we can learn--”

“Don’t want to hear it,” you tell him. “The next time you go to the temple, you can tell who you’re reporting too to mind their own damn business.” With that, you abscond from the suite, shutting the door hard behind you. Of course, you nearly run over the servants bringing breakfast on your way out. 

Your bad temper leads you down to the garden. You end up sitting by a tiny ornamental pond with cattails and frogs, and skip stones into the water. You think angry, resentful thoughts in Megido’s general direction. Because Megido picked Berend to spy on you. Again. You are not in any way trying to contact Her, but apparently your discontent is loud enough to reach Her because She says, **don’t be mad Dave!**

There is literally nothing you can say to this. Nothing that wouldn’t be extremely rude that is. You haven’t quite reached the point where you’re willing to treat the gods like people. So you don’t say anything.

**I’m sorry you and Berend met the way you did, instead of becoming friends, Megido continues. Though it seemed that you thinking about him in a friendly way before this?**

“Hate-friendly maybe,” you mutter. You’d been getting along, anyway, and he really wasn’t that bad of a kid. Just. The spying thing. “Why him, anyway?”

**Berend has the potential to be a powerful seer, that’s why I stole him from Terezi,** Megido says. **Also, he has good observational skills. And anything we can learn about the awakening process will help all of you in the long run.**

“So you have him studying me? Or is it Dirk?” You think it might be Dirk because Nepeta had been concerned about Dirk, and because this was Dirk’s “entry point” into the world. (Was Aradia as concerned about Dirk as Nepeta was, or was she only curious? Memory told you it could be either or both.)

**Both actually,** Megido says. **I was also hoping he’d be able to help you find the others. Your own personal Seeker.**

“He’s a _kid_ ,” you protest.

**Right now, so are you, Dave. It will be a few years before you’re ready to help Dirk look for his friends.**

“You’ve got everything planned out for me, huh?” You ask, a little sourly. 

**A few things planned!** Megido says. **And contingencies in case the first plans don’t pan out. I should have consulted more, but you weren’t ready yet, and everything seemed to be lining up perfectly, so I went ahead.**

A thought occurs to you. “How far back were you planning this? Did you know about Adron?”

**Leijon told the rest of us, before she confessed to Rose, so yes, by a few months.**

“Why wasn’t I ready to talk to?” You ask. 

**It takes time before you can really receive our communications. We can send you dream messages but we can’t really communicate with you the way we can communicate with or influence a mortal. Also, you do realize you could have asked me directly what I was up to, once you knew how, right?**

You feel a little sheepish, because it _hadn’t_ occurred to you. “You still could have told me,” you mutter. “Through Rose or even the high priest.”

**I could have and maybe should have but I wanted to wait until you could ask me yourself, on the same level, even if our first real conversation was an argument,** Megido says.

“I would have preferred just being told,” you say, and skim a stone across the little pond. “Dave you have to take this annoying little troll with you so he can spy on you!”

**Dave you have to take this annoying little troll with you so he can spy on you,** Megido says in a cheerfully obliging tone. Then, in a more serious tone, **I’m sorry for not telling you more clearly.**

You somehow hadn’t expected an apology from the goddess, and you aren’t sure of how to reply at first. Just don’t do it again, pops into your head and you are momentarily horrified. Instead you say, “It’s fine, I guess.” Then, “I don’t like the way everything changed on me, and I didn’t like being pushed.” 

**Not one of my more subtle machinations, Megido says. But things would have changed anyway, now that you were awakening to your memories.**

“Knowing that doesn’t help,” you say.

**I know, but as much as things change, they remain the same. You still have friends, and you are welcome to visit them.**

“Yeah but they’re all intimidated by my being the Hero of Time,” you mutter under your breath. Megido doesn’t say anything in reply, but you can feel her being sympathetic, and amused at the same time. The sense of her presence fades, and you’re alone in the garden again. 

Rose is lying in wait when you finally go back inside. You bristle a little when she comes into view, defensive and still a little angry after your argument with Berend and your conversation with Megido. She stops a few feet in front of you and starts to speak, but you interrupt before she gets a chance. “If you’re going to talk to me about Berend, I don’t want to hear about it.”

“I was going to add my apology to Megido’s, actually,” Rose says gently. “And tell you that if you wanted to talk, we could retire to the east salon and have a late breakfast.”

“Oh. Breakfast sounds good,” you say lamely. You don’t ask how she knew. Apparently, there had been some talking behind the scenes. “I don’t know what to talk about.”

“About your feelings perhaps? As much of your feelings as you feel obliged as a Strider to reveal of course.”

“I don’t feel up to talking about my feelings,” you say. 

“No? Then I suppose we’ll think of something else to talk about,” Rose says, and gently herds you off to the east salon where she does in fact make you talk about your feelings over breakfast. You don’t put up much of a fight, truth to tell. Rose is a good listener, and it feels familiar and comfortable to talk to her, even if it’s about your feelings, which are all over the place. 

You’re hurt because of your friends, angry because of being pushed into taking Berend, frustrated with the sudden changes and requirements of your position, unhappy in general and homesick in specific. You’re worried and self-conscious because of Adron, and some part of you is cringing because you’re pretty sure Adron must have heard the argument you had with Berend this morning. (It doesn’t matter that Adron isn’t actually your Bro or Dirk who both would have said something about it, you lost your grip for a moment, and that was a bad, terrible thing that nothing could cover up.) “Part of me feels like this is too much, too fast, and the rest of me feels like I’m stuck under glass.” You make a face at what you just said. “That was a slant rhyme, don’t put too much into it.”

“Well, feeling stuck under glass in the sense that you couldn’t move and were bored with it and being stuck under glass in the sense that you were being studied and observed are both completely valid feelings, since both are technically happening,” Rose says with a slight smile. “I wanted to take things slow, because I didn’t want you to have the introduction to Court that I had; much too abrupt and with the assumption that I was much more mature than I actually was at the time. Do you feel that I’m taking things too slow?”

“I don’t know, maybe,” you say. “I just don’t feel that I’m doing anything useful right now.” 

“I’ll see what I can do to change that,” Rose says. “The plan was for you to stay with your brother and help him adjust to Torre, and eventually, to being a Hero.” A pause. “I suppose I should have let you in on the plan sooner.”

“I kind of assumed that was the case anyway,” you tell her. “I don’t mind.”

Rose nods. “Now for the important questions,” she says. “Do you feel up to going to the dinner tonight? You aren’t obliged to, if you would rather not.”

“I’ll go,” you say, a little embarrassed that she thought she needed to ask. “I’m over my vapors.”

“What about Berend?” Rose asks.

“Berend had vapors too?” You can’t help the deflection. 

Rose gives you a look that tries to be stern but fails. “Yes, yes he did. Is the situation hopeless, or can you work with him? I was going to assist with his Seer training, but if you really don’t want to have him as your companion we could try to find someone else.” Rose’s tone made it sound like this might be hard to do.

“How powerful is he supposed to be?” you ask. Berend hadn’t made it sound like he was very powerful. 

“Strong at seeing and hearing things at a distance, less strong at reading objects and very little ability with communicating with the deceased,” Rose says. “Some limited precognition.” A pause. “But that’s beside the point if you don’t want to work with him.”

“I don’t not want to work with him,” you say after thinking about it. “That is, I’m willing to go along with this. Did he really have vapors?” 

“Yes, he really had vapors,” Rose says, sounding amused. “He was very upset that he angered you.”

“Uh. I guess I have to talk to him. After breakfast I mean.”

“That might be nice.”


End file.
